THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

Ada  Nisbet 

ENGLISH  READING  ROOM 


JUL  1 7  1986 


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THE  CAXTONS. 


THE    CAXTONS 


A    FAMILY    PICTURE 


BY 

EDWARD   BULWER  \lYTTON 
(Lord    Lytton) 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CASSELL   PUBLISHING  CO. 

31  East  17TH  St.  (Union  Square) 


THB  MERSHON  COMFANV  PKsn, 
KAHWAY,  N.  J. 


PREFACE.  _^„ 

^^ 

If  it  be  the  good  fortune  of  this  work  to  possess  any  interest  for  the 
novel  reader,  that  interest,  perhaps,  will  be  but  little  derived  from  tlie  cus- 
tomary elements  of  fiction.  The4jlQt_is-extxuii.ely, slight  ;  the.  iii.ddeiLta-are 
few,  and,  with  the  exception  of  those  which  involve  the  fate  of  Vivian,  such 
asliiay  be  found  in  the  records  o£  ordinary  life. 

■  Regarded  as  a  novel,  this  attempt  is  an  experiment  somewhat  apart  from 
the  previous  works  of  the  author  ;jt_is-^he-first  of  his  writings  ia  which 
humor  has  been  employed  less  for  the  purpose  of  satire  than  in  illustra- 
tTon  of  amiable  characlers  ;  it  is  the  first,  too,  in  which  man  has  been  viewe3 
less  in  his  active  relations  with  the  world,  than  in  his  repose  at  his  own 
hearth — in  a  wotd^  the  greater  part  of  the  canvas  has  been  devoted  to  the 
completion  of  a  simple  Family  Picture.  And  thus,  ia  any  appeal  to  the 
Sympathies  of  the  human  heart,  the  common  household  affections  occupy 
l!he  place  of  those  livelier  or  larger  passions  which  usually  (and  not  unjustly) 
Srrogate  the  foreground  ia  romantic  composition. 

In  the  hero  whose  autobiography  connects  the  different  characters  and 
events  of  the  work,  it  has  been  the  author's  intention  to  imply  the  influences.^ 
of  home  upon  the  conduct  and  career  of  youth  ;  and  in  the  ambition  which 
csTranges  Pisistratus  for  a  time  from  the  sedentary  occupations  in  which  the 
man  of  civilized  life  must  usually  serve  his  apprenticeship  to  fortune  or  to  fame, 
it  is  not  designed  to  describe  the  fever  of  genius  conscious  of  superior  pow- 
ers and  aspiring  to  high  destinies,  but  the  natural  tendencies  of  a  fresh  and 
buoyant  mind,  rather  vigorous  than  contemplative,  and  in  which  the  desire 
of  action  is  but  the  symptom  of  health. 

Pisistratus,  in  this  respect  (as  he  himself  feels  and  implies),  becomes  the 
specimen  or  type  of  a  class  the  numbers  of  which  are  daily  increasing  in  the 
inevitable  progress  of  modern  civilization.  He  is  one  too  many  in  the  midst 
of  the  crowd  :  he  is  the  representative  of  the  exuberant  energies  of  youth, 
turning,  as  with  the  instinct  of  nature,  for  space  and  development,  from  the 
Old  World  to  the  New.  That  which  may  be  called  the  interior  meaning  of 
the  whole  is  sought  to  be  completed  by  the  inference  that,  whatever  our 
wanderings,  our  happiness  will  always  be  found  within  a  narrow  compass, 
and  amidst  the  objects  more  immediately  withiii  our  reach — but  that  we  are 
seldom  sensible  of  this  truth  (hackneyed  though  it  be  in  the  schools  of  all 
philosophies)  till  our  researches  have  spread  over  a  wicker  area.  To  insure 
the  blessing  of  repose,  we  require  a  brisker  excitement  than  a  few  turns  up 
and  down  our  room.  Content  is  like  that  humor  in  the  crystal,  on  which 
Claudian  has  lavished  the  wonder  of  a  child  and  the  fancies  of  a  poet — 

"  Vivis  gemma  tumescit  aa"'«-" 

E.  B.  L. 
October,  1849. 


THE  CAXTONS. 


PART  FIRST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Sir — sir,  it  is  a  boy  !" 

"  A  boy,"  said  my  father,  looking  up  from  his  book,  and 
evidently  much  puzzled  ;  "what  is  a  boy  ?" 

Now  my  father  did  not  mean  by  that  interrogatory  to  chal- 
lenge philosophical  inquiry,  nor  to  demand  of  the  honest  but 
unenlightened  woman  who  had  just  rushed  into  his  study,  a 
solution  of  that  mystery,  physiological  and  psychological, 
which  has  puzzled  so  many  curious  sages,  and  lies  still  involved 
in  the  question,  "  What  is  man?"  For,  as  we  need  not  look 
further  than  Dr.  Johnson's  Dictionary  to  know  that  a  boy  is 
"  a  male  child,"  /.  e.,  the  male  young  of  man  ;  so  he  who  would 
go  to  the  depth  of  things,  and  know  scientifically  what  is  a 
boy,  must  be  able  to  ascertain  "  what  is  a  man  ?  "  But,  for 
aught  I  know,  my  father  may  have  been  satisfied  with  Buffon 
on  that  score,  or  he  may  have  sided  with  Monboddo.  He  may 
have  agreed  with  Bishop  Berkeley  ;  he  may  have  contented 
himself  with  Professor  Combe ;  he  may  have  regarded  the 
genus  spiritually,  like  Zeno,  or  materially  like  Epicurus. 
Grant  that  boy  is  the  male  young  of  man,  and  he  would  have 
had  plenty  of  definitions  to  chose  from.     He  might  have  said, 

Man  is  a  stomach  ;  ergo,  boy  a  male  young  stomach.  Man 
is  a  brain — boy  a  male  young  brain.  Man  is  a  bundle  of 
habits — boy  a  male  young  bundle  of  habits.  Man  is  a 
machine — boy  a  male  young  machine.  Man  is  a  tailless 
monkey — boy  a  male  young  tailless  monkey.  Man  is  a  com- 
bination of  gases — boy  a  male  young  combination  of  gases. 
Man  is  an  appearance — boy  a  male  young  appearance,"  etc. 
etc.,  and  etcetera,  ad  infinitum !  And  if  none  of  these  defini- 
tions had  entirely  satisfied  my  father,  I  am  perfectly  persuaded 


6  THE    CAXTONS. 

that  he  would  never  have  come  to  Mrs.  Primmins  for  a  new 
one. 

But  it  so  happened  that  my  father  was  at  that  moment 
engaged  in  the  important  consideration  whether  the  Iliad  was 
written  by  one  Homer,  or  was  rather  a  collection  of  sundry 
ballads,  done  into  Greek  by  divers  hands,  and  finally  selected, 
complied,  and  reduced  into  a  whole  by  a  Committee  of  Taste, 
under  that  elegant  old  tyrant  Pisistratus  ;  and  the  sudden 
affirmation  "It  is  a  boy,"  did  not  seem  to  him  pertinent  to  the 
thread  of  the  discussion.  Therefore  he  asked  :  "  What  is  a 
boy  ? — vaguely,  and,  as  it  were,  taken  by  surprise. 

"  Lord,  sir  !"  said  Mrs.  Primmins,  "  what  is  a  boy?  Why, 
the  baby  ! " 

"The  baby!"  repeated  my  father,  rising.  "What,  you 
don't  mean  to  say  that  Mrs.  Caxton  is — eh — ? " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Primmins,  dropping  a  curtsey  ;  "  and 
as  fine  a  little  rogue  as  ever  1  set  eyes  upon." 

"  Poor,  dear  woman  !  "  said  my  father  with  great  compassion. 
"  So  soon,  too — so  rapidly  !  "  he  resumed  in  a  tone  of  musing 
surprise.     "  Why,  it  is  but  the  other  day  we  were  married  !  " 

"  Bless  my  heart,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Primmins,  much  scandalized, 
"  it  is  ten  months  and  more."  . 

"  Ten  months ! "  said  my  father  with  a  sigh.  "  Ten  months  ! 
and  I  have  not  finished  fifty  pages  of  my  refutation  of  Wolfe's 
monstrous  theory  !  In  ten  months  a  child  ! — and  I'll  be  bound 
complete — hands,  feet,  eyes,  ears,  and  nose  ! — and  not  like 
this  poor  Infant  of  Mind  (and  my  father  pathetically  placed 
his  hand  on  the  treatise),  of  which  nothing  is  formed  and 
shaped — not  even  the  first  joint  of  the  little  finger  !  Why,  my 
wife  is  a  precious  woman  !  Well,  keep  her  quiet.  Heaven 
preserve  her,  and  send  me  strength — to  support  this  blessing !  " 

"  But  your  honor  will  look  at  the  baby? — come,  sir  !  "  and 
Mrs.  Primmins  laid  hold  of  my  father's  sleeve  coaxingly. 

"  Look  at  it — to  be  sure,"  said  my  father  kindly  ;  "  look  at 
it,  certainly  ;  it  is  but  fair  to  poor  Mrs.  Caxton  ;  after  taking 
so  much  trouble,  dear  soul  !  " 

Therewith  my  father,  drawing  his  dressing-robe  round  him 
in  more  stately  folds,  followed  Mrs.  Primmins  upstairs  into  a 
room  very  carefully  darkened. 

"  How  are  you,  my  dear  ?  "  said  my  father  with  compas- 
sionate tenderness,  as  he  groped  his  way  to  the  bed. 

A  faint  voice  muttered  :  "  Better  now,  and  so  happy  !  " 
And,  at  the  .same  moment,  Mrs.  Primmins  pulled  my  father 
away,  lifted  a  coverlid   from  a  small  cradle,  and,  holding  a 


THE   CAXTONS.  7 

candle  within  an  inch  of  an  undeveloped  nose,  cried  emphat- 
ically :  "  There — bless  it !  " 

"Of  course,  ma'am,  1  bless  it,"  said  my  father  rather  peev- 
ishly. *•  It  is  my  duty  to  bless  it ;  Bless  it  !  And  this,  then, 
is  the  way  we  come  into  the  world  I — red,  very  red — blushing 
for  all  the  follies  we  are  destined  to  commit." 

My  father  sat  down  on  the  nurse's  chair,  the  women  grouped 
round  him.  He  continued  to  gaze  on  the  contents  of  the 
cradle,  and  at  length  said  musingly  :  "  And  Homer  was  once 
like  this !  " 

At  this  moment — and  no  wonder,  considering  the  propinquity 
of  the  candle  to  his  visual  organs — Homer's  infant  likeness 
commenced  the  first  untutored  melodies  of  nature. 

"  Homer  improved  greatly  in  singing  as  he  grew  older," 
observed  Mr.  Squills,  the  accoucheur,  who  was  engaged  in  some 
mysteries  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 

My  father  stopped  his  ears  :  "  Little  things  can  make  a 
great  noise,"  said  he  philosophically;  "and  the  smaller  the 
thing  the  greater  noise  it  can  make." 

So  saying,  he  crept  on  tiptoe  to  the  bed,  and,  clasping  the 
pale  hand  held  out  to  him,  whispered  some  words  that  no 
doubt  charmed  and  soothed  the  ear  that  heard  them,  for  that 
pale  hand  was  suddenly  drawn  from  his  own  and  thrown  ten- 
derly round  his  neck.  The  sound  of  a  gentle  kiss  was  heard 
through  the  stillness. 

"  Mr.  Caxton,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Squills,  in  rebuke,  "  you  agitate 
my  patient — you  must  retire." 

My  father  raised  his  mild  face,  looked  round  apologetically, 
brushed  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  stole  to  the  door, 
and  vanished. 

"  I  think,"  said  a  kind  gossip  seated  at  the  other  side  of  my 
mother's  bed,  "  I  think,  my  dear,  that  Mr.  Caxton  might  have 
shown  more  joy — more  natural  feeling,  I  may  say — at  the 
sight  of  the  baby  :  and  such  a  baby  I  But  all  men  are  just 
the  same,  my  dear — brutes — all  brutes,  depend  upon  it." 

"  Poor  Austin  !  "  sighed  my  mother  feebly — "  how  little  you 
understand  him  !  " 

"  And  now  I  shall  clear  the  room,"  said  Mr.  Squills.  "  Go 
to  sleep,  Mrs.  Caxton." 

"  Mr.  Squills,"  exclaimed  my  mother,  and  the  bed-curtains 
trembled,  "pray  see  that  Mr.  Caxton  does  not  set  himself  on 
fire  ;  and,  Mr.  Squills,  tell  him  not  to  be  vexed  and  miss  me — 
1  shall  be  down  very  soon — sha'n't  I  ?  " 

"  If  you  keep  yourself  easy,  you  will,  ma'am." 


8  THE   CAXTONS. 

"  Pray,  say  so  ;  and,  Primmins, — " 

•*  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Every  one,  I  fear,  is  neglecting  your  master.  Be  sure 
(and  my  mother's  lips  approached  close  to  Mrs.  Primmins' 
ear) — be  sure  that  you — air  his  nightcap  yourself." 

"  Tender  creatures  those  women,"  soliloquized  Mr.  Squills, 
as,  after  clearing  the  room  of  all  present,  save  Mrs.  Primmins 
and  the  nurse,  he  took  his  way  towards  my  father's  study. 
Encountering  the  footman  in  the  passage — "  John,"  said  he, 
"take  supper  into  your  master's  room,  and  make  us  some 
punch,  will  you  ? — stiffish  !  " 

CHAPTER  II. 

"  Mr.  Caxton,  how  on  earth  did  you  ever  come  to  marry?  " 
asked  Mr.  Squills  abruptly,  with  his  feet  on  the  hob,  while 
stirring  up  his  punch. 

That  was  a  home  question,  which  many  men  might  reason- 
ably resent  ;  but  my  father  scarcely  knew  what  resentment 
was. 

"  Squills,"  said  he,  turning  round  from  his  books,  and  laying 
one  finger  on  the  surgeon's  arm  confidentially  ;  "  Squills," 
said  he,  "  1  myself  should  be  glad  to  know  how  I  came  to  be 
married." 

Mr.  Squills  was  a  jovial,  good-hearted  man — stout,  fat,  and 
with  fine  teeth,  that  made  his  laugh  pleasant  to  look  at  as  well 
as  to  hear.  Mr!  Squills,  moreover,  was  a  bit  of  a  philosopher 
in  his  way — studied  human  nature  in  curing  its  diseases — and 
was  accustomed  to  say,  that  Mr.  Caxton  was  a  better  book  in 
himself  than  all  he  had  in  his  library.  Mr.  Squills  laughed 
and  rubbed  his  hands. 

My  father  resumed  thoughtfully,  and  in  the  tone  of  one  who 
moralizes  : 

"  There  are  three  great  events  in  life,  sir — birth,  marriage, 
and  death.  None  know  how  they  are  born,  few  know  how 
they  die.  But  I  suspect  that  many  can  account  for  the  inter- 
mediate phenomenon — I  cannot." 

"  It  was  not  for  money,  it  must  have  been  for  love."  observed 
Mr.  Squills  ;  "  and  your  young  wife  is  as  pretty  as  she  is 
good." 

"  Ha  !  "  said  my  father,  "  I  remember." 

"  Do  you,  sir  ?"  exclaimed  Squills,  highly  amused.  "  How 
was  it  ? " 

My  father,  as  was  often  the  case  with  him,  protracted  his 


THE   CAXTONS.  9 

reply,  and  then  seemed  rather  to  commune  with  himself  than 
to  answer  Mr.  Squills. 

"  The  kindest,  the  best  of  men,"  he  murmured — "  Abyssus 
Eruditionis  :  and  to  think  that  he  bestowed  on  me  the  only 
fortune  he  had  to  leave,  instead  of  to  his  own  flesh  and  blood, 
Jack  and  Kitty.  All  at  least  that  I  could  grasp  deficients 
manu,  of  his  Latin,  his  Greek,  his  Orientals.  What  do  I  not 
owe  to  him  !  " 

♦*  To  whom  ?"  asked  Squills.  "  Good  Lord,  what's  the  man 
talking  about  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  my  father,  rousing  himself,  "such  was  Giles 
Tibbets,  M.A.,  Sol  Sciefiiiarum,  tutor  to  the  humble  scholar 
you  address,  and  father  to  poor  Kitty,  He  left  me  his  Elze- 
virs ;  he  left  me  also  his  orphan  daughter." 

"  Oh  !  as  a  wife — " 

"  No,  as  a  ward.  So  she  came  to  live  in  my  house.  I  am 
sure  there  was  no  harm  in  it.  But  my  neighbors  said  there 
was,  and  the  Widow  Weltraum  told  me  the  girl's  character 
would  suffer.  Wliat  could  I  do  ?  Oh  yes,  I  recollect  all  now  ! 
I  married  her,  that  my  old  friend's  child  might  have  a  roof  to 
her  head,  and  come  to  no  harm.  You  see  I  was  forced  to  do 
her  that  injury  ;  for,  after  all,  poor  young  creature,  it  was  a 
sad  lot  for  her.  A  dull  book-worm  like  m.Q-^cochlece  viiam 
agens,  Mr.  Squills — leading  the  life  of  a  snail.  But  my  shell 
was  all  I  could  offer  to  my  poor  friend's  orphan." 

"  Mr.  Caxton,  I  honor  you,"  said  Squills  emphatically, 
jumping  up,  and  spilling  half  a  tumblerful  of  scalding  punch 
over  my  father's  legs.  "  You  have  a  heart,  sir  !  and  I  under- 
stand why  your  wife  loves  you.  Y'ou  seem  a  cold  man  ;  but 
you  have  tears  in  your  eyes  at  this  moment." 

"  I  dare  say  I  have,"  said  my  father,  rubbing  his  shins  ;  "it 
was  boiling  !  " 

*'  And  your  son  will  be  a  comfort  to  you  both,"  said  Mr. 
Squills,  reseating  himself,  and,  in  his  friendly  emotion,  wholly 
abstracted  from  all  consciousness  of  the  suffering  he  had 
inflicted.     "  He  will  be  a  dove  of  peace  to  your  ark." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  said  my  father  ruefully  ;  *'  only  those 
doves,  when  they  are  small,  are  a  very  noisy  sort  of  birds — non 
talium  avium  cantus  somnuni  reducent.  However,  it  might 
have  been  worse.     Leda  had  twins." 

"  So  had  Mrs.  Barnabas  last  week,"  rejoined  the  accoucheur. 
"  Who  knows  what  may  be  in  store  for  you  yet?  Here's  a 
health  to  Master  Caxton,  and  lots  of  brothers  and  sisters  to 
him!" 


lO  THE   CAXTONS. 

"  Brothers  and  sisters  !  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Caxton  will  never 
think  of  such  a  thing,  sir,"  said  my  father  almost  indignantly. 
"  She's  much  too  good  a  wife  to  behave  so.  Once,  in  a  way, 
it  is  all  very  well  ;  but  twice — and  as  it  is,  not  a  paper  in  its 
place,  nor  a  pen  mended  the  last  three  days  :  I,  too,  who  can 
only  write  '  cuspide  duriusculd  ' — and  the  baker  coming  twice 
to  me  for  his  bill  too  !  The  Ilithyiae  are  troublesome  deities, 
Mr.  Squills." 

"  Who  are  the  Ilithyiae  }  "  asked  the  accoucheur. 

"  You  ought  to  know,"  answered  my  father,  smiling.  "  The 
female  daemons  who  presided  over  the  Neogilos  or  New-born. 
They  take  the  name  from  Juno.  See  Homer,  Book  XI.  By 
the  by,  will  my  Neogilos  be  brought  up  like  Hector  or  Astya- 
nax — videlicety  nourished  by  its  mother  or  by  a  nurse  ?  " 

"  Which  do  you  prefer,  Mr.  Caxton  ? "  asked  Mr.  Squills, 
breaking  the  sugar  in  his  tumbler.  "  In  this  I  always  deem  it 
my  duty  to  consult  the  wishes  of  the  gentleman." 

"  A  nurse  by  all  means,  then,"  said  my  father.  "  And  let 
her  carry  him  upo  kolpo,  next  to  her  bosom.  I  know  all  that 
has  been  said  about  mothers  nursing  their  own  infants,  Mr. 
Squills  ;  but  poor  Kitty  is  so  sensitive,  that  I  think  a  stout, 
healthy  peasant  woman  will  be  the  best  for  the  boy's  future 
nerves,  and  his  mother's  nerves,  present  and  future  too. 
Heigh-ho  ! — I  shall  miss  the  dear  woman  very  much  ;  when 
will  she  be  up,  Mr.  Squills  ! " 

"  Oh,  in  less  than  a  fortnight !  " 

**  And  then  the  Neogilos  shall  go  to  school  !  upo  kolpo — the 
nurse  with  him,  and  all  will  be  right  again,"  said  my  father, 
with  a  look  of  sly,  mysterious  humor,  which  was  peculiar  to  him. 

"  School !  when  he's  just  born  ? " 

**  Can't  begin  too  soon,"  said  my  father  positively  ;  "  that's 
Helvetius'  opinion,  and  it  is  mine  too  !  " 


CHAPTER   III. 

That  I  was  a  very  wonderful  child,  I  take  for  granted  ; 
but,  nevertheless,  it  was  not  of  my  own  knowledge  that  I  came 
into  possession  of  the  circumstances  set  down  in  my  former 
chapters.  But  my  father's  conduct  on  the  occasion  of  my 
birth  made  a  notable  impression  upon  all  who  witnessed  it ; 
and  Mr.  Squills  and  Mrs.  Primmins  have  related  the  facts  to 
me  sufficiently  often,  to  make  me  as  well  acquainted  with  them 
as  those  worthy  witnesses  themselves.     I  fancy  I  see  my  father 


THE   CAXTONS.  II 

before  me,  in  his  dark-gray  dressing-gown,  and  witli  his  odd, 
half  sly,  half  innocent  twitch  of  the  mouth,  and  pecuHar  puz- 
zling look,  from  two  quiet,  abstracted,  indolently  handsome 
eyes,  at  the  moment  he  agreed  with  Helvetius  on  the  propriety 
of  sending  me  to  school  as  soon  as  I  was  born.  Nobody 
knew  exactly  what  to  make  of  my  father — his  wife  excepted. 
The  people  of  Abdera  sent  for  Hippocrates  to  cure  the  sup- 
posed insanity  of  Democritus,  "  who  at  that  time,"  saith  Hip- 
pocrates drily,  "  was  seriously  engaged  in  Philosophy."  That 
same  people  of  Abdera  would  certainly  have  found  very 
alarming  symptoms  of  madness  in  my  poor  father  ;  for,  like 
Democritus,  "he  esteemed  as  nothing  the  things,  great  or 
small,  in  which  the  rest  of  the  world  were  employed."  Accord' 
ingly,  some  set  him  down  as  a  sage,  some  as  a  fool.  The 
neighboring  clergy  respected  him  as  a  scholar,  "breathing 
libraries";  the  ladies  despised  him  as  an  absent  pedant,  who 
had  no  more  gallantry  than  a  stock  or  a  stone.  The  poor 
loved  him  for  his  charities,  but  laughed  at  him  as  a  weak  sort 
of  man,  easily  taken  in.  Yet  the  squires  and  fanners  found 
that,  in  their  own  matters  of  rural  business,  he  had  always  a 
fund  of  curious  information  to  impart ;  and  whoever,  young 
or  old,  gentle  or  simple,  learned  or  ignorant,  asked  his  advice, 
it  was  given  with  not  more  humility  than  wisdom.  In  the 
common  affairs  of  life,  he  seemed  incapable  of  acting  for  him- 
self ;  he  left  all  to  my  mother ;  or,  if  taken  unawares,  was 
pretty  sure  to  be  the  dupe.  But  in  those  very  affairs,  if  another 
consulted  him,  his  eye  brightened,  his  brow  cleared,  the  desire 
of  serving  made  him  a  new  being  :  cautious,  profound,  prac- 
tical. Too  lazy  or  too  languid  where  only  his  own  interests 
were  at  stake  ;  touch  his  benevolence  and  all  the  wheels  of  the 
clockwork  felt  the  impetus  of  the  master-spring.  No  wonder 
that,  to  others,  the  nut  of  such  a  character  was  hard  to  crack  ! 
But,  in  the  eyes  of  my  poor  mother,  Augustine  (familiarly 
Austin)  Caxton  was  the  best  and  the  greatest  of  human  beings ; 
and  she  ought  to  have  known  him  well,  for  she  studied  him 
with  her  whole  heart,  knew  every  trick  of  his  face,  and,  nine 
times  out  of  ten,  divined  what  he  was  going  to  say  before  he 
opened  ni?  lips.  Yet  certainly  there  were  deeps  in  his  nature 
which  the  plummet  of  her  tender  woman's  wit  had  never 
sounded  ;  and,  certainly,  it  sometimes  happened  that,  even  in 
his  most  domestic  colloquialisms,  my  mother  was  in  doubt 
whether  he  was  the  simple,  straightforward  person  he  was 
mostly  taken  for.  There  was,  indeed,  a  kind  of  suppressed, 
subtle  irony  about  him,  too  unsubstantial  to  be   popularly 


12  THE    CAXTONS. 

called  humor,  but  dimly  implying  some  sort  of  jest,  which  he 
kept  all  to  himself  ;  and  this  was  only  noticeable  when  he  said 
something  that  sounded  very  grave,  or  appeared  to  the  grave 
very  silly  and  irrational. 

That  I  did  not  go  to  school — at  least  to  what  Mr.  Squills 
understood  by  the  word  school — quite  so  soon  as  intended,  I 
need  scarcely  observe.  In  fact,  my  mother  managed  so  well — 
my  nursery,  by  means  of  double  doors,  was  so  placed  out  of 
hearing — that  my  father,  for  the  most  part,  was  privileged,  if 
he  pleased,  to  forget  my  existence.  He  was  once  vaguely 
recalled  to  it  on  the  occasion  of  my  christening.  Now,  my  father 
was  a  shy  man,  and  he  particularly  hated  all  ceremonies  and 
public  spectacles.  He  became  uneasily  aware  that  a  great 
ceremony,  in  which  he  might  be  called  upon  to  play  a  promi- 
nent part,  was  at  hand.  Abstracted  as  he  was,  and  conve- 
niently deaf  at  times,  he  had  heard  such  significant  whispers 
about  "taking  advantage  of  the  bishop's  being  in  the  neigh- 
borhood," and  "  twelve  new  jelly-glasses  being  absolutely 
wanted,"  as  to  assure  him  that  some  deadly  festivity  was  in 
the  wind.  And  when  the  question  of  godmother  and  godfather 
was  fairly  put  to  him,  coupled  with  the  remark  that  this  was  a 
fine  opportunity  to  return  the  civilities  of  the  neighborhood, 
he  felt  that  a  strong  effort  at  escape  was  the  only  thing  left. 
Accordingly,  having,  seemingly  without  listening,  heard  the 
day  fixed,  and  seen,  as  they  thought,  without  observing,  the 
chintz  chairs  in  the  best  drawing-room  uncovered  (my  dear 
mother  was  the  tidiest  woman  in  the  world),  my  father  sud- 
denly discovered  that  there  was  to  be  a  great  book  sale  twenty 
miles  off,  which  would  last  four  days,  and  attend  it  he  must. 
My  mother  sighed  ;  but  she  never  contradicted  my  father, 
even  when  he  was  wrong,  as  he  certainly  was  in  this  case. 
She  only  dropped  a  timid  intimation  that  she  feared  "  It  would 
look  odd,  and  the  world  might  misconstrue  my  father's  ab- 
sence— had  not  she  better  put  off  the  christening?" 

"  My  dear,"  answered  my  father,  "  it  will  be  my  duty,  by  and 
by,  to  christen  the  boy — a  duty  not  done  in  a  day.  At  present, 
I  have  no  doubt  that  the  bishop  will  do  very  well  without  me. 
Let  the  day  stand,  or,  if  you  put  it  off,  upon  my  word  and 
honor  I  believe  that  the  wicked  auctioneer  will  put  off  the  book 
sale  also.  Of  one  thing  I  am  quite  sure,  that  the  sale  and  the 
christening  will  take  place  at  the  same  time." 

There  was  no  getting  over  this  ;  but  I  am  certain  my  dear 
mother  had  much  less  heart  than  before  in  uncovering  the 
chintz  chairs  in  the  best  drawing-room.     Five  years  later  this 


Trtg   CAXt6N*§.  13 

would  not  have  happeneJ.  My  mothei"  would  have  kissed  my 
father,  and  said  "  Stay,"  and  he  would  have  stayed.  But  she 
was  then  very  young  and  timid  ;  and  he,  wild  man,  not  of  the 
woods,  but  the  cloisters,  nor  yet  civilized  into  the  tractabilities 
of  home.  In  short,  the  post-chaise  was  ordered  and  the  car- 
pet-bag packed. 

"  My  love,"  said  my  mother,  the  night  before  this  Hegira, 
looking  up  from  her  work  ;  '*  My  love,  there  is  one  thing  you 
have  quite  forgot  to  settle — 1  beg  pardon  for  disturbing  you, 
but  it  is  important ! — baby's  name  ;  shant  we  call  him  Augus- 
tine ?  " 

**  Augustine,"  said  my  father  dreamily  ;  "  why,  that  name's 
mine." 

"  And  you  would  like  your  boy's  to  be  the  same  ? " 

"  No,"  said  my  father,  rousing  himself.  "  Nobody  would 
know  which  was  which.  I  should  catch  myself  learning  the 
Latin  accidence  or  playing  at  marbles.  I  should  never  know 
my  own  identity,  and  Mrs.  Primmins  would  be  giving  me  pap." 

My  mother  smiled  ;  and  putting  her  hand,  which  was  a  very 
pretty  one,  on  my  father's  shoulder,  and  looking  at  him 
tenderly,  she  said  :  "  There's  no  fear  of  mistaking  you  for  any 
other,  even  your  son,  dearest.  Still,  if  you  prefer  another 
name,  what  shall  it  be  ?  " 

"  Samuel,"  said  my  father.     "  Dr.  Parr's  name  is  Samuel." 

"  La,  my  love  !     Samuel  is  the  ugliest  name — " 

My  father  did  not  hear  the  exclamation,  he  was  again  deep 
in  his  books  ;  presently  he  started  up  :  "  Barnes  says  Homer 
is  Solomon.  Read  Omeros  backwards,  in  the  Hebrew 
maimer — " 

"  Yes,  my  love,"  interrupted  my  mother.  "  But  baby's 
Christian  name  ?  " 

"  Omeros — Soremo — Solemo — Solomo  !  " 

"  Solomo  !  shocking,"  said  my  mother. 

"Shocking,  indeed,"  echoed  my  father;  "an  outrage  to 
common-sense."  Then,  after  glancing  again  over  his  books, 
he  broke  out  musingly  :  "  But,  after  all,  it  is  nonsense  to 
suppose  that  Homer  was  not  settled  till  /it's  time." 

"  Whose  ?  "  asked  my  mother  mechanically. 

My  father  lifted  up  his  finger. 

My  mother  continued,  after  a  short  pause  :  "  Arthur  is  a 
pretty  name.  Then  there's  William — Henry — Charles — Rob- 
ert.    What  shall  it  be,  love  ? " 

"  Pisistratus  ?"  said  my  father  (who  had  hung  fire  till  then), 
in  a  tone  of  contempt — "  Pisistratus,  indeed  !  " 


14  tHE   CAXtOMS. 

"  Pisistratus  !  a  very  fine  name,"  said  my  mother  joyfully— 
"  Pisistratus  Caxton,  Thank  you,  my  love.  Pisistratus  it 
shall  be." 

"Do  you  contradict  me?  Do  you  side  with  Wolfe  and 
Heyne,  and  that  pragmatical  fellow,  Vico  ?  Do  you  mean  to 
say  that  the  Rhapsodists — " 

"  No,  indeed,"  interrupted  my  mother.  "  My  dear,  you 
frighten  me." 

My  father  sighed,  and  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair.  My 
mother  took  courage  and  resumed: 

"  Pisistratus  is  a  long  name  too  !  Still  some  could  call  him 
Sisty." 

"  Siste,  Viator,"  muttered  my  father  ;  "  that's  trite  !" 

"  No,  Sisty  by  itself — short.     Thank  you,  my  dear." 

Four  days  afterwards,  on  his  return  from  the  book  sale,  to 
my  father's  inexpressible  bewilderment,  he  was  informed  that 
"  Pisistratus  was  growing  the  very  image  of  him." 

When  at  length  the  good  man  was  made  thoroughly  aware 
of  the  fact  that  his  son  and  heir  boasted  a  name  so  memorable 
in  history  as  that  borne  by  the  enslaver  of  Athens,  and  the 
disputed  arranger  of  Homer — and  it  was  asserted  to  be  a  name 
that  he  himself  had  suggested — he  was  as  angry  as  so  mild  a 
man  could  be.  "  But  it  is  infamous !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Pisis- 
tratus christened !  Pisistratus  !  who  lived  six  hundred  years 
before  Christ  was  born.  Good  Heavens,  madam  !  you  have 
made  me  the  father  of  an  Anachronism." 

My  mother  burst  into  tears.  But  the  evil  was  irremediable. 
An  anachronism  I  was,  and  an  anachronism  1  must  continue 
to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Of  course,  sir,  you  will  begin  soon  to  educate  your  sor» 
yourself  ?  "  said  Mr.  Squills. 

"  Of  course,  sir,"  said  my  father,  "  you  have  read  Martinu& 
Scriblerus  ?" 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Caxton." 

"Then  you  have «^/ read  Martinus  Scriblerus,  Mr.  Squills!" 

"  Consider  that  I  have  read  it,  and  what  then  ? " 

"  Why  then,  Squills,"  said  my  father  familiarly,  "  you  would 

know,  that  though  a  scholar  is  often  a  fool,  he  is  never  a  fool 

so  supreme,  so  superlative,  as  when  he  is  defacing  the  first 

.unsullied  page  of  the  human  history,  by  entering  into  it  th» 


THE   CAXTONS.  I5 

commonplaces  of  his  own  pedantry.  A  scholar,  sir — at  least 
one  like  me — is  of  all  persons  the  most  unfit  to  teach  young 
children.  A  mother,  sir — a  simple,  natural,  loving  mother — is 
the  infant's  true  guide  to  knowledge." 

"  Egad,  Mr.  Caxton,  in  spite  of  Helvetius,  whom  you  quoted 
the  night  the  boy  was  born — egad,  I  believe  you  are  right." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  my  father  ;  "  at  least  as  sure  as  a 
poor  mortal  can  be  of  anything.  I  agree  with  Helvetius,  the 
child  should  be  educated  from  its  birth  ;  but  how  .-' — there  is 
the  rub  :  send  him  to  school  forthwith  !  Certainly,  he  is  at 
school  already  with  the  two  great  teachers,  Nature  and  Love. 
Observe,  that  childhood  and  genius  have  the  same  master-organ 
in  common — inquisitiveness.  Let  childhood  have  its  way,  and 
as  it  began  where  genius  begins,  it  may  find  what  genius  finds. 
A  certain  Greek  writer  tells  us  of  some  man,  who,  in  order  to 
save  his  bees  a  troublesome  flight  to  Hymettus,  cut  their  wings, 
and  placed  before  them  the  finest  flowers  he  could  select. 
The  poor  bees  made  no  honey.  Now,  sir,  if  I  were  to  teach 
my  boy  I  should  be  cutting  his  wings,  and  giving  him  the 
flowers  he  should  find  himself.  Let  us  leave  Nature  alone  for 
the  present,  and  Nature's  loving  proxy,  the  watchful  mother." 

Therewith  my  father  pointed  to  his  heir  sprawling  on  the 
grass,  and  plucking  daisies  on  the  lawn  ;  while  the  young 
mother's  voice  rose  merrily,  laughing  at  the  child's  glee. 

"  I  shall  make  but  a  poor  bill  out  of  your  nursery,  I  see," 
said  Mr.  Squills. 

Agreeably  to  these  doctrines,  strange  in  so  learned  a  father, 
I  thrived  and  flourished,  and  learned  to  spell,  and  make  pot- 
hooks, under  the  joint  care  of  my  mother  and  Dame  Primmins, 
This  last  was  one  of  an  old  race  fast  dying  away — the  race  of 
old  faithful  servants — the  race  of  old  tale-telling  nurses.  She 
had  reared  my  mother  before  me  ;  but  her  affection  put  out 
new  flowers  for  the  new  generation.  She  was  a  Devonshire 
woman,  and  Devonshire  women,  especially  those  who  have 
passed  their  youth  near  the  seacoast,  are  generally  superstitious. 
She  had  a  wonderful  budget  of  fables.  Before  I  was  six  years 
old,  I  was  erudite  in  that  primitive  literature,  in  which  the 
legends  of  all  nations  are  traced  to  a  common  fountain — "  Puss 
in  Boots,"  "  Tom  Thumb,"  "  Fortunio,"  "  Fortunatus,"  "  Jack 
the  Giant  Killer," — tales  like  proverbs,  equally  familiar,  under 
different  versions,  to  the  infant  worshippers  of  Budh  and  the 
hardier  children  of  Thor.  I  may  say,  without  vanity,  that  in 
an  examination  in  those  venerable  classics,  I  could  have  taken 
honors  I 


l6  THE   CAXTONS. 

My  dear  mother  had  some  little  misgivings  as  to  the  solid 
benefit  to  be  derived  from  such  fantastic  erudition,  and  timidly 
consulted  my  father  thereon. 

"  My  love,"  answered  my  father,  in  that  tone  of  voice  which 
always  puzzled  even  my  mother,  to  be  sure  whether  he  was  in 
jest  or  earnest,  "in  all  these  fables,  certain  philosophers  could 
easily  discover  symbolical  significations  of  the  highest  morality. 
I  have  myself  written  a  treatise  to  prove  that  '  Puss  in  Boots' 
is  an  allegory  upon  the  progress  of  the  human  understanding, 
having  its  origin  in  the  mystical  schools  of  the  Egyptian 
priests,  and  evidently  an  illustration  of  the  worship  rendered 
at  Thebes  and  Memphis  to  those  feline  quadrupeds,  of  which 
they  make  both  religious  symbols  and  elaborate  mummies." 

"  My  dear  Austin,"  said  my  mother,  opening  her  blue  eyes, 
"you  don't  think  that  Sisty  will  discover  all  those  fine  things 
in  *  Puss  in  Boots ' !  " 

"  My  dear  Kitty,"  answered  my  father,  "  you  don't  think, 
when  you  were  good  enough  to  take  up  with  me,  that  you 
found  in  me  all  the  fine  things  I  have  learned  from  books. 
You  knew  me  only  as  a  harmless  creature,  who  was  happy 
enough  to  please  your  fancy.  By  and  by  you  discovered  that 
I  was  no  worse  for  all  the  quartos  that  have  transmigrated 
into  ideas  within  me — ideas  that  are  mysteries  even  to  myself. 
If  Sisty,  as  you  call  the  child  (plague  on  that  unlucky  anach- 
ronism !  which  you  do  well  to  abbreviate  into  a  dissyllable), 
if  Sisty  can't  discover  all  the  wisdom  of  Egypt  in  'Puss  in 
Boots,'  what  then  ?  *  Puss  in  Boots'  is  harmless,  and  it  pleases 
his  fancy.  All  that  wakes  curiosity  is  wisdom,  if  innocent ;  all 
that  pleases  the  fancy  now,  turns  hereafter  to  love  or  to  knowl- 
edge.    And  so,  my  dear,  go  back  to  the  nursery." 

But  I  should  wrong  thee,  O  best  of  fathers  !  if  I  suffered 
the  reader  to  suppose,  that  because  thou  didst  seem  so  indif- 
ferent to  my  birth,  and  so  careless  as  to  my  early  teaching, 
therefore  thou  wert,  at  heart,  indifferent  to  thy  troublesome 
Neogilos.  As  I  grew  older,  I  became  more  sensibly  aware 
that  a  father's  eye  was  upon  me.  I  distinctly  remember  one 
incident,  that  seems  to  me,  in  looking  back,  a  crisis  in  my 
infant  life,  as  the  first  tangible  link  between  my  own  heart  and 
that  calm,  great  soul. 

My  father  was  seated  on  the  lawn  before  the  house,  his 
straw  hat  over  his  eyes  (it  was  summer),  and  his  book  on  his 
lap.  Suddenly  a  beautiful  delf  blue-and-white  flower-pot,  which 
had  been  set  on  the  window-sill  of  an  upper  story,  fell  to  the 
ground  with  a  crash,  and  the  fragments  spluttered  up  round 


THE   CAXTONS.  I7 

my  father's  legs.  Sublime  in  his  studies  as  Archimedes  in 
the  siege,  he  continued  to  read  :  Impavidum  ferient  ruince  ! 

"  Dear,  dear ! "  cried  my  mother,  who  was  at  work  in  the 
porch,  "  my  poor  flower-pot  that  I  prized  so  much  !  Who 
could  have  done  this  ?     Primmins,  Primmins  !  " 

Mrs.  Primmins  popped  her  head  out  of  the  fatal  window, 
nodded  to  the  summons,  and  came  down  in  a  trice,  pale  and 
breathless. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  my  mother  mournfully,  "  I  would  rather  have 
lost  all  the  plants  in  the  greenhouse  in  the  great  blight  last 
May — I  would  rather  the  best  tea-set  were  broken  !  The  poor 
geranium  I  reared  myself,  and  the  dear,  dear  flower-pot  which 
Mr.  Caxton  bought  for  me  my  last  birthday !  That  naughty 
child  must  have  done  this  !  " 

Mrs.  Primmins  was  dreadfully  afraid  of  my  father — why,  I 
know  not,  except  that  very  talkative,  social  persons  are  usually 
afraid  of  very  silent,  shy  ones.  She  cast  a  hasty  glance  at  her 
master,  who  was  beginning  to  evince  signs  of  attention,  and 
cried  promptly :  "  No,  ma'am,  it  was  not  the  dear  boy,  bless 
his  flesh,  it  was  I !  " 

"  You  ?  How  could  you  be  so  careless  ?  And  you  knew 
how  I  prized  them  both.     O  Primmins  !  " 

Primmins  began  to  sob. 

"  Don't  tell  fibs,  nursey,"  said  a  small,  shrill  voice  ;  and 
Master  Sisty  (coming  out  of  the  house  as  bold  as  brass)  con- 
tinued rapidly  :  "  Don't  scold  Primmins,  mamma  :  it  was  I 
who  pushed  out  the  flower-pot." 

"  Hush ! "  said  nurse,  more  frightened  than  ever,  and 
looking  aghast  towards  my  father,  who  had  very  deliberately 
taken  oft"  his  hat,  and  was  regarding  the  scene  with  serious 
eyes  wide  awake. 

"  Hush  !  And  if  he  did  break  it,  ma'am.  It  was  quite  an  acci- 
dent; he  was  standing  so,  and  he  never  meant  it.  Did  you.  Mas- 
ter Sisty  ?     Speak  !  (this  in  a  whisper)  or  pa  will  be  so  angry." 

"  Well,"  said  my  mother,  "  I  suppose  it  was  an  accident  ; 
take  care  in  future,  my  child.  You  are  sorry,  I  see,  to  have 
grieved  me.     There's  a  kiss  ;  don't  fret." 

**  No,  mamma,  you  must  not  kiss  me  ;  I  don't  deserve  it.  I 
pushed  out  the  flower-pot  on  purpose." 

"  Ha  !  and  why  ?  "  said  my  father,  walking  up. 

Mrs.  Primmins  trembled  like  a  leaf. 

"  For  fun  !  "  said  I,  hanging  my  head — "  just  to  see  how 
you'd  look,  papa  ;  and  that's  the  truth  of  it.  Now  beat  me, 
do  beat  me  1  " 


iS  TH£   CAXTONS. 

My  father  threw  his  book  fifty  yards  off,  stooped  down,  and 
caught  me  to  his  breast.  "  Boy,"  he  said,  "  you  have  done 
wrong  :  you  shall  repair  it  by  remembering  all  your  life  that 
your  father  blessed  God  for  giving  him  a  son  who  spoke  truth 
in  spite  of  fear !  Oh  !  Mrs.  Primmins,  the  next  fable  of  this 
kind  you  try  to  teach  him,  and  we  part  forever  !  " 

From  that  time  I  first  date  the  hour  when  I  felt  that  I  loved 
my  father,  and  knew  that  he  loved  me  ;  from  that  time,  too, 
he  began  to  converse  with  me.  He  would  no  longer,  if  he  met 
me  in  the  garden,  pass  by  with  a  smile  and  nod  ;  he  would 
stop,  put  his  book  in  his  pocket,  and  though  his  talk  was  often 
above  my  comprehension,  still  somehow  I  felt  happier  and 
better,  and  less  of  an  infant,  when  I  thought  over  it,  and 
tried  to  puzzle  out  the  meaning  ;  for  he  had  a  way  of  sug- 
gesting, not  teaching  ;  putting  things  into  my  head,  and  then 
leaving  them  to  work  out  their  own  problems.  I  remember  a 
special  instance  with  respect  to  that  same  flower-pot  and  gera- 
nium. Mr.  Squills,  who  was  a  bachelor,  and  well  to  do  in  the 
world,  often  made  me  little  presents.  Not  long  after  the  event 
I  have  narrated,  he  gave  me  one  far  exceeding  in  value  those 
usually  bestowed  on  children ;  it  was  a  beautiful,  large 
domino-box  in  cut  ivory,  painted  and  gilt.  This  domino- 
box  was  my  delight.  I  was  never  weary  of  playing  at 
dominoes  with  Mrs.  Primmins,  and  I  slept  with  the  box  under 
my  pillow. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  my  father  one  day  when  he  found  me  ranging 
the  ivory  parallelograms  in  the  parlor,  "  Ah  !  you  like  that 
better  than  all  your  playthings,  eh  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  papa." 

"  You  would  be  very  sorry  if  your  mamma  were  to  throw 
that  box  out  of  the  window,  and  break  it  for  fun."  I  looked 
beseechingly  at  my  father,  and  made  no  answer. 

"  But  perhaps  you  would  be  very  glad,"  he  resumed,  "  if 
suddenly  one  of  those  good  fairies  you  read  of  could  change 
the  domino-box  into  a  beautiful  geranium  in  a  beautiful  blue- 
and-while  flower-pot,  and  you  could  have  the  pleasure  of  put- 
ting it  on  your  mamma's  window-sill." 

"  Indeed  I  would  !  "  said  I,  half  crying. 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  believe  you  ;  but  good  wishes  don't  mend 
bad  actions — good  actions  mend  bad  actions." 

So  saying,  he  shut  the  door  and  went  out.  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  puzzled  I  was  to  make  out  what  my  father  meant  by 
his  aphorism.  But  I  know  that  I  played  at  dominoes  no  more 
that  day.     The  next  morning  my  father  found  me  seated  by 


THE  CAXtONS.  19 

myself  under  a  tree  in  the  garden  ;  he  paused  and  looked  at 
me  with  his  grave,  bright  eyes  very  steadily. 

"  My  boy,"  said   he,  "  I  am  going  to  walk  to (a  town 

about  two  miles  off),  will  you  come?  And,  by  the  by,  fetch 
your  domino-box  :  I  should  like  to  show  it  to  a  person  there." 
I  ran  in  for  the  box,  and,  not  a  little  proud  of  walking  with  my 
father  upon  the  high-road,  we  set  out. 

"  Papa,"  said  I  by  the  way,  "there  are  no  fairies  now." 

"  What  then,  my  child  ?  " 

"  Why — how  then  can  my  domino-box  be  changed  into  a 
geranium  and  a  blue-and-white  flower-pot?" 

"  My  dear,"  said  my  father,  leaning  his  hand  on  my  shoulder, 
"  everybody  who  is  in  earnest  to  be  good,  carries  two  fairies 
about  with  him — one  here,"  and  he  touched  my  heart ;  "  and 
one  here,"  and  he  touched  my  forehead. 

**  I  don't  understand,  papa." 

"  I  can  wait  till  you  do,  Pisistratus  I     What  a  name  !  " 

My  father  stopped  at  a  nursery  gardener's,  and,  after  look- 
ing over  the  flowers,  paused  before  a  large  double  geranium. 
•'  Ah,  this  is  finer  than  that  which  your  mamma  was  so  fond 
of.     What  is  the  cost,  sir  ?  " 

"  Only  7s.  6d.,"  said  the  gardener. 

My  father  buttoned  up  his  pocket.  "  I  can't  afford  it  to- 
day," said  he  gently,  and  we  walked  out. 

On  entering  the  town,  we  stopped  again  at  a  china-ware- 
house. "  Have  you  a  flower-pot  like  that  I  bought  some 
month§  ago  ?  Ah,  here  is  one,  marked  3s.  6d.  Yes,  that  is 
the  price.  Well,  when  your  mamma's  birthday  comes  again, 
we  must  buy  her  another.  That  is  some  months  to  wait.  And 
we  can  wait,  Master  Sisty.  For  truth,  that  blooms  all  the  year 
round,  is  better  than  a  poor  geranium  ;  and  a  word  that  is 
never  broken,  is  better  than  a  piece  of  delf." 

My  head,  which  had  drooped  before,  rose  again  ;  but  the 
rush  of  joy  at  my  heart  almost  stifled  me. 

"  1  have  called  to  pay  your  little  bill,"  said  my  father,  enter- 
ing the  shop  of  one  of  those  fancy  stationers  common  in  coun- 
try towns,  and  who  sell  all  kinds  of  pretty  toys  and  nicknacks. 
"  And  by  the  way,"  he  added,  as  the  smiling  shopman  looked 
over  his  books  for  the  entry,  "  I  think  my  little  boy  here  can 
show  you  a  much  handsomer  specimen  of  French  workman- 
ship than  that  work-box  which  you  enticed  Mrs.  Caxton  into 
raffling  for,  last  winter.     Show  your  domino-box,  my  dear." 

I  produced  my  treasure,  and  the  shopman  was  liberal  in  his 
commendations.     "  It  is  always  well,  ray  boy,  to  know  what  a 


20  THE   CAXTONS. 

thing  is  worth, incase  one  wishes  to  part  with  it.  If  my  young 
gentleman  gets  tired  of  his  plaything,  what  will  you  give  him 
for  it  ? " 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  the  shopman,  "  I  fear  we  could  not  afford 
to  give  more  than  eighteen  shillings  for  it,  unless  the  young 
gentleman  took  some  of  these  pretty  things  in  exchange." 

"  Eighteen  shillings  !  "  said  my  father  ;  "  you  would  give 
f/iaf  sum.  Well,  my  boy,  whenever  you  do  grow  tired  of  your 
box,  you  have  my  leave  to  sell  it." 

My  father  paid  his  bill  and  went  out.  I  lingered  behind  a 
few  moments,  and  joined  him  at  the  end  of  the  street. 

•'  Papa,  papa  !  "  I  cried,  clapping  my  hands,  "  we  can  buy 
the  geranium — we  can  buy  the  flower-pot."  And  I  pulled  a 
handful  of  silver  from  my  pockets. 

"  Did  I  not  say  right  ?  "  said  my  father,  passing  his  handker- 
chief over  his  eyes  ;  "  You  have  found  the  two  fairies  !  " 

Oh  !  how  proud,  how  overjoyed  I  was,  when,  after  placing 
vase  and  flower  on  the  window-sill,  I  plucked  my  mother  by 
the  gown,  and  made  her  follow  me  to  the  spot. 

"  It  is  his  doing,  and  his  money  ! "  said  my  father  ;  "  good 
actions  have  mended  the  bad." 

*'  What !  "  cried  my  mother,  when  she  had  learned  all ;  "  and 
your  poor  domino-box  that  you  were  so  fond  of.  We  will  go 
Ijack  to-morrow,  and  buy  it  back,  if  it  costs  us  double." 

"  Shall  we  buy  it  back,  Pisistratus  ?"  asked  my  father. 

"  Oh  no — no — no  !  It  would  spoil  all,"  I  cried,  burying  my 
face  on  my  father's  breast. 

"  My  wife,"  said  my  father  solemnly,  "  this  is  my  first  lesson 
to  our  child — the  sanctity  and  the  happiness  of  self-sacrifice; 
undo  not  what  it  should  teach  to  his  dying  day." 


CHAPTER  V. 

AVhen  I  was  between  my  seventh  and  my  eighth  year,  a 
change  came  over  me,  which  may  perhaps  be  familiar  to  the 
notice  of  those  parents  who  boast  the  anxious  blessing  of  an 
only  child.  The  ordinary  vivacity  of  childhood  forsook  me  ; 
I  became  quiet,  sedate,  and  thoughtful.  The  absence  of  plj»y- 
fellows  of  my  own  age,  the  companionship  of  mature  minds, 
alternated  only  by  complete  solitude,  gave  something  pre- 
cocious, whether  to  my  imagination  or  my  reason.  The  wild 
fables  mutteied  to  me  by  the  old  nurse  in  the  summer  twilight, 
or  over  the  winter's  hearth — the  effort  made  by  my  struggling 


THE    CAXTONS.  21 

intellect  to  comprehend  the  grave,  sweet  wisdom  of  my  father's 
suggested  lessons — tended  to  feed  a  passion  for  revery,  in 
which  all  my  faculties  strained  and  struggled,  as  in  the  dreams 
that  come  when  sleep  is  nearest  waking.  I  had  learned  to 
read  with  ease,  and  to  write  with  some  fluency,  and  I  already 
began  to  imitate,  to  reproduce.  Strange  tales,  akin  to  those  I 
had  gleaned  from  fairyland — rude  songs,  modelled  from  such 
verse-books  as  fell  into  my  hands,  began  to  mar  the  contents 
of  marble-covered  pages,  designed  for  the  less  ambitious  pur- 
poses of  round  text  and  multiplication.  My  mind  was  yet 
more  disturbed  by  the  intensity  of  my  home  affections.  My 
love  for  both  my  parents  had  in  it  something  morbid  and 
painful.  1  often  wept  to  think  how  little  I  could  do  for  those 
I  loved  so  well.  My  fondest  fancies  built  up  imaginary  diffi- 
culties for  them,  which  my  arm  was  to  smooth.  These 
feelings,  thus  cherished,  made  my  nerves  over-susceptible  and 
acute.  Nature  began  to  affect  me  powerfully  ;  and  from  that 
affection  rose  a  restless  curiosity  to  analyze  the  charms  that  so 
mysteriously  moved  me  to  joy  or  awe,  to  smiles  or  tears.  I 
got  my  father  to  explain  to  me  the  elements  of  astronomy  ;  I 
extracted  from  Squills,  who  was  an  ardent  botanist,  some  of 
the  mysteries  in  the  life  of  flowers.  But  music  became  my 
darling  passion.  My  mother  (though  the  daughter  of  a  great 
scholar — a  scholar  at  whose  name  my  father  raised  his  hat  if 
it  happened  to  be  on  his  head)  possessed,  I  must  own  it  fairly, 
less  book-learning  than  many  a  humble  tradesman's  daughter 
can  boast  in  this  more  enlightened  generation  ;  but  she  had 
some  natural  gifts  which  had  ripened,  Heaven  knows  how  ! 
into  womanly  accomplishments.  She  drew  with  some  elegance, 
and  painted  flowers  to  exquisite  perfection.  She  played  on 
more  than  one  instrument  with  more  than  boarding-school  skill ; 
and  though  she  sang  in  no  language  but  her  own,  few  could 
hear  her  sweet  voice  without  being  deeply  touched.  Her  music, 
her  songs,  had  a  wondrous  effect  on  me.  Thus,  altogether,  a 
kind  of  dreamy  yet  delightful  melancholy  seized  upon  my  whole 
being  ;  and  this  was  the  more  remarkable,  because  contrary 
to  my  early  temperament,  which  was  bold,  active,  and  hilarious. 
The  change  in  my  character  began  to  act  upon  my  form. 
From  a  robust  and  vigorous  infant,  I  grew  into  a  pale  and 
slender  boy.  I  began  to  ail  and  mope.  Mr.  Squills  was 
called  in. 

"  Tonics  !  "  said  Mr.  Squills  ;  "  and  don't  let  him  sit  over 
his  book.  Send  him  out  in  the  air — make  him  play.  Come 
here,  my  boy ;  these  organs  are  growing  too  large  ;  and  Mr^ 


22  THE    CAXTONS. 

Squills,  who  was  a  phrenologist,  placed  his  hand  on  my  fore- 
head. "  Gad,  sir,  here's  an  ideality  for  you  ;  and,  bless  my 
soul,  what  a  constructiveness  !  " 

My  father  pushed  aside  his  papers,  and  walked  to  and  fro 
the  room  with  his  hands  behind  him  ;  but  he  did  not  say  a 
word  till  Mr.  Squills  was  gone. 

"  My  dear,"  then  said  he  to  my  mother,  on  whose  breast  I 
was  leaning  my  aching  ideality  ;  "  My  dear,  Pisistratus  must 
go  to  school  in  good  earnest." 

"  Bless  me,  Austin  ! — at  his  age  ? " 

"  He  is  nearly  eight  years  old." 

"  But  he  is  so  forward." 

"  It  is  for  that  reason  he  must  go  to  school." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  you,  my  love.  I  know  he  is  get- 
ting past  me  ;  but  you  who  are  so  clever — " 

My  father  took  my  mother's  hand  :  "  We  can  teach  him 
nothing  now,  Kitty.     We  send  him  to  school  to  be  taught — " 

'  By  some  schoolmaster  who  knows  much  less  than  you 
do-" 

"  By  little  schoolboys,  who  will  make  him  a  boy  again,"  said 
my  father,  almost  sadly.  "  My  dear,  you  remember  that,  when 
our  Kentish  gardener  planted  those  filbert-trees,  and  when 
they  were  in  their  third  year,  and  you  began  to  calculate  on 
what  they  would  bring  in,  you  went  out  one  morning,  and 
found  he  had  cut  them  down  to  the  ground.  You  were  ve.xed, 
and  asked  why.  What  did  the  gardener  say  ?  *  To  prevent 
their  bearing  too  soon.'  There  is  no  want  of  fruitfulness 
here — put  back  the  hour  of  produce,  that  the  plant  may  last." 

"  Let  me  go  to  school,"  said  I,  lifting  my  languid  head,  and 
smiling  on  my  father.  I  understood  him  at  once,  and  it  was  as 
if  the  voice  of  my  life  itself  answered  him. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  YEAR  after  the  resolution  thus  come  to,  I  was  at  home  for 
the  holidays. 

"  I  hope,"  said  my  mother,  "that  they  are  doing  Sisty  justice. 
I  do  think  he  is  not  nearly  so  quick  a  child  as  he  was  before 
he  went  to  school.     I  wish  you  would  examine  him,  Austin." 

"  I  have  examined  him,  my  dear.  It  is  ju.st  as  I  expected  ; 
and  I  am  quite  satisfied." 

"  What !  you  really  think  he  has  come  on  ?  "  said  my  mother 
joyfully. 


THE   CAXTONS.  23 

"  He  does  not  care  a  button  for  botany  now,"  said  Mr. 
Squills. 

"  And  he  used  to  be  so  fond  of  music,  dear  boy  !  "  observed 
my  mother,  with  a  sigh.     "  Good  gracious,  what  noise  is  that?" 

"  Your  son's  pop-gun  against  the  window,"  said  my  father. 
"  It  is  lucky  it  is  only  the  window  ;  it  would  have  made  a  less 
deafening  noise,  though,  if  it  had  been  Mr.  Squills'  head,  as  it 
was  yesterday  morning." 

"  The  left  ear,"  observed  Squills  ;  *'  and  a  very  sharp  blow 
it  was,  too.     Yet  you  are  satisfied,  Mr.  Caxton  ? " 

"  Yes ;  I  think  the  boy  is  now  as  great  a  blockhead  as  most 
boys  of  his  age  are,"  observed  my  father  with  great  com- 
placency. 

"  Dear  me,  Austin — a  great  blockhead  !  " 

"  What  else  did  he  go  to  school  for  ?  "  asked  my  father. 
And  observing  a  certain  dismay  in  the  face  of  his  female 
audience,  and  a  certain  surprise  in  that  of  his  male,  he  rose 
and  stood  on  the  hearth,  with  one  hand  in  his  waistcoat,  as 
was  his  wont  when  about  to  philosophize  in  more  detail  than 
vas  usual  to  him. 

"  Mr.  Squills,"  said  he,  "  you  have  had  great  experience  in 
families." 

*'  As  good  a  practice  as  any  in  the  county,"  said  Mr.  Squills 
proudly  ;  "more  than  I  can  manage.  I  shall  advertise  for  a 
partner." 

"  And,"  resumed  my  father,  "  you  must  have  observed 
almost  invariably  that,  in  every  family,  there  is  what  father, 
mother,  uncle,  and  aunt  pronounce  to  be  one  wonderful  child." 

"One  at  least,"  said  Mr.  Squills,  smiling. 

"It  is  easy,"  continued  my  father,  "to  say  this  is  parental 
partiality,  but  it  is  not  so.  Examine  that  child  as  a  stranger, 
and  it  will  startle  yourself.  You  stand  amazed  at  its  eager 
curiosity,  its  quick  comprehension,  its  ready  wit,  its  delicate 
perception.  Often,  too,  you  will  find  some  faculty  strikingly 
developed  ;  the  child  will  have  a  turn  for  mechanics,  perhaps, 
and  make  you  a  model  of  a  steamboat ;  or  it  will  have  an  ear 
tuned  to  verse,  and  will  write  you  a  poem  like  that  it  has  got 
by  heart  from  '  The  Speaker';  or  it  will  take  to  botany  (like 
Pisistratus),  with  the  old  maid  its  aunt ;  or  it  will  play  a  march 
on  its  sister's  pianoforte.  In  short,  even  you,  Squills,  will 
.declare  that  it  is  really  a  wonderful  child." 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  Mr.  Squills  thoughtfully,  "there's  a 
great  deal  of  truth  in  what  you  say.  Little  Tom  Dobbs  is  a 
wonderful  child  ;  so  is  Frank  Stepington  ;  and  as  for  Johnny 


24  THE    CAXTONS. 

Styles,  I  must  bring  him  here  for  you  to  near  him  prattle  on 
Natural  History,  and  see  how  well  he  handles  his  pretty  little 
microscope." 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  "  said  my  father.  "  And  now  let  me  pro- 
ceed. These  thaumata  or  wonders  last  till  when,  Mr.  Squills  ? — 
last  till  the  boy  goes  to  school,  and  then,  somehow  or  other, 
the  thaumata  vanish  into  thin  air,  like  ghosts  at  the  cockcrow. 
A  year  after  the  prodigy  has  been  at  the  academy,  father  and 
mother,  uncle  and  aunt,  plague  you  no  more  with  his  doings 
and  sayings  ;  the  extraordinary  infant  has  become  a  very 
ordinary  little  boy.     Is  it  not  so,  Mr.  Squills?" 

"  Indeed  you  are  right,  sir.  How  did  you  come  to  be  so 
observant  ?     You  never  seem  to — " 

"  Hush  !  "  interrupted  my  father ;  and  then,  looking  fondly 
at  my  mother's  anxious  face,  he  said  soothingly :  "  Be  com- 
forted :  this  is  wisely  ordained — and  it  is  for  the  best." 

"  It  must  be  the  fault  of  the  school,"  said  my  mother,  shak- 
ing her  head. 

"  It  is  the  necessity  of  the  school,  and  its  virtue,  my  Kate. 
Let  any  one  of  these  wonderful  children — wonderful  as  you 
thought  Sisty  himself — stay  at  home,  and  you  will  see  its  h^d 
grow  bigger  and  bigger,  and  its  body  thinner  and  thinner — eh, 
Mr.  Squills  ? — till  the  mind  take  all  nourishment  from  the 
frame,  and  the  frame,  in  turn,  stint  or  make  sickly  the  mind. 
You  see  that  noble  oak  from  the  window.  If  the  Chinese  had 
brought  it  up,  it  would  have  been  a  tree  in  miniature  at  five 
years  old,  and  at  a  hundred,  you  would  have  set  it  in  a  flower- 
pot on  your  table,  no  bigger  than  it  was  at  five — a  curiosity  for 
its  maturity  at  one  age,  a  show  for  its  diminutiveness  at  the 
other.  No  !  the  ordeal  for  talent  is  school ;  restore  the  stunted 
mannikin  to  the  growing  child,  and  then  let  the  child,  if  it  can, 
healthily,  hardily,  naturally,  work  its  slow  way  up  into  great- 
ness. If  greatness  be  denied  it,  it  will  at  least  be  a  man,  and 
that  is  better  than  to  be  a  little  Johnny  Styles  all  its  life — an 
oak  in  a  pill-box." 

At  that  moment  I  rushed  into  the  room,  glowing  and  pant- 
ing, health  on  my  cheek,  vigor  in  my  limbs,  all  childhood  at 
my  heart.  "  Oh,  mamma,  I  have  got  up  the  kite — so  high  ! — 
come  and  see.     Uo  come,  papa." 

"  Certainly,"  said  my  father  ;  "only  don't  cry  so  loud — kites 
make  no  noise  in  rising ;  yet,  you  see  how  they  soar  above  the, 
world.     Come,   Kate.      Where  is  my  hat  ?    Ah — thank   you, 
my  boy." 

"  Kitty,"  said  my  father,  looking  at  the  kite,  which,  attached 


THE   CAXTONS.  25 

by  its  String  to  the  peg  I  had  stuck  into  the  ground,  rested 
calm  in  the  sky,  "  never  fear  but  what  our  kite  shall  fly  as 
high  ;  only,  the  human  soul  has  stronger  instincts  to  mount 
upward  than  a  few  sheets  of  paper  on  a  framework  of  lath. 
But,  observe,  that  to  prevent  its  being  lost  in  the  freedom  of 
space,  we  must  attach  it  lightly  to  earth ;  and,  observe  again, 
my  dear,  that  the  higher  it  soars,  the  more  string  we  must 
give  it." 


PART   SECOND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

When  I  had  reached  the  age  of  twelve,  I  had  got  to  the 
head  of  the  preparatory  school  to  which  I  had  been  sent.  And 
having  thus  exhausted  all  the  oxygen  of  learning  in  that  little 
receiver,  my  parents  looked  out  for  a  wider  range  for  my 
inspirations.  During  the  last  two  years  in  which  I  had  been  at 
school,  my  love  for  study  had  returned  ;  but  it  was  a  vigorous, 
wakeful,  undreamy  love,  stimulated  by  competition,  and  ani- 
mated by  the  practical  desire  to  excel. 

My  father  no  longer  sought  to  curb  my  intellectual  aspir- 
ings. He  had  too  great  a  reverence  for  scholarship  not  to 
wish  me  to  become  a  scholar  if  possible  ;  though  he  more 
then  once  said  to  me  somewhat  sadly  :  "  Master  books,  but 
do  not  let  them  master  you.  Read  to  live,  not  live  to  read. 
One  slave  of  the  lamp  is  enough  for  a  household  :  my  servi- 
tude must  not  be  a  hereditary  bondage." 

My  father  looked  round  for  a  suitable  academy  ;  and  the 
fame  of  Dr.  Herman's  "  Philhellenic  Institute  "  came  to  his 
ears. 

Now,  this  Dr.  Herman  was  the  son  of  a  German  music- 
master,  who  had  settled  in  England.  He  had  completed  his 
own  education  at  the  University  of  Bonn  ;  but  finding  learning 
too  common  a  drug  in  that  market  to  bring  the  high  price  at 
which  he  valued  his  own,  and  having  some  theories  as  to  polit- 
ical freedom  which  attached  him  to  England,  he  resolved 
upon  setting  up  a  school,  which  he  designed  as  an  "  Era  in  the 
History  of  the  Human  Mind."  Dr.  Herman  was  one  of  the 
earliest  of  those  new-fashioned  authorities  in  education,  who 
have,  more  lately,  spread   pretty  numerously  amongst  us,  and 


26  THE   CAXTONS. 

would  have  given,  perhaps,  a  danj;erons  shake  to  the  found' 
ations  of  our  great  classical  seminaries,  if  those  last  had  not 
very  wisely,  though  very  cautiously,  borrowed  some  of  the 
more  sensible  principles  which  lay  mixed  and  adulterated 
amongst  the  crotchets  and  chimeras  of  their  innovating  rivals 
and  assailants. 

Dr.  Herman  had  written  a  great  many  learned  works  against 
every  pre-existing  method  of  instruction  ;  that  which  had  made 
the  greatest  noise  was  upon  the  infamous  fiction  of  Spelling 
Books  :  "  A  more  lying,  roundabout,  puzzle-headed  delusion 
than  that  by  which  we  confuse  the  clear  instincts  of  truth  in 
our  accursed  systems  of  spelling,  was  never  concocted  by  the 
father  of  falsehood."  Such  was  the  exordium  of  this  famous 
treatise.  "  For  instance,  take  the  monosyllable  Cat.  What 
a  brazen  forehead  you  must  have,  when  you  say  to  an  infant, 
c,  A,  T, — spell  Cat  ;  that  is,  three  sounds  forming  a  totally 
opposite  compound — opposite  in  every  detail,  opposite  in  the 
whole — compose  a  poor  little  monosyllable,  which,  if  you 
would  but  say  the  simple  truth,  the  child  will  learn  to  spell 
merely  by  looking  at  it  !  How  can  three  sounds,  which  run 
thus  to  the  ear,  see — e/i — /ee,  compose  the  sound  <:<3!/?  Don't 
they  rather  compose  the  sound  see-eh-te  or  ceaty  ?  How  can  a 
system  of  education  flourish  that  begins  by  so  monstrous  a 
falsehood,  which  the  sense  of  hearing  suffices  to  contradict  ? 
No  wonder  that  the  hornbook  is  the  despair  of  mothers !  " 
From  this  instance,  the  reader  will  perceive  that  Dr.  Herman, 
in  his  theory  of  education,  began  at  the  beginning  ! — he  took 
the  bull  fairly  by  the  horns.  As  for  the  rest,  upon  a  broad 
principle  of  eclecticism,  he  had  combined  together  every  new 
patent  invention  for  youthful  idea-shooting.  He  had  taken 
his  trigger  from  Hofwyl  ;  he  had  bought  his  wadding  from 
Hamilton  ;  he  had  got  his  copper-caps  from  Bell  and  Lan- 
caster. The  youthful  idea  !  he  had  rammed  it  tight  ! — he  had 
rammed  it  loose ! — he  had  rammed  it  with  pictorial  illustra- 
trations  ! — he  had  rammed  it  with  the  monitorial  system  ! — he 
had  rammed  it  in  every  conceivable  way,  and  with  every  imag- 
inable ramrod  ;  but  I  have  mournful  doubts  whether  he  shot 
the  youthful  idea  an  inch  farther  than  it  did  under  the  old 
mechanism  of  flint  and  steel  !  Nevertheless,  as  Dr.  Herman 
really  did  teach  a  great  many  things  too  much  neglected  at 
schools  ;  as,  besides  Latin  and  Greek,  he  taught  a  vast  variety 
in  that  vague  infinite  nowadays  called  "  useful  knowledge  "; 
as  he  engaged  lecturers  on  chemistry,  engineering,  and  natural 
history  ;  as  arithmetic  and  the  elements  of  physical  science 


Ttt£  CASCTOMS.  ^7 

were  enforced  with  zeal  and  care  ;  as  all  sorts  of  gymnastics 
were  entermingled  with  the  sports  of  the  play-ground — so  the 
youthful  idea,  if  it  did  not  go  farther,  spread  its  shots  in  a 
wider  direction  ;  and  a  boy  could  not  stay  there  five  years 
without  learning  something,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  all 
schools  !  He  learned  at  least  to  use  his  eyes,  and  his  ears, 
and  his  limbs;  order,  cleanliness,  exercise,  grew  into  habits; 
and  the  school  pleased  the  ladies  and  satisfied  the  gentlemen  ; 
in  a  word,  it  thrived  :  and  Dr.  Herman,  at  the  time  I  speak  of, 
numbered  more  than  one  hundred  pupils.  Now,  when  the 
worthy  man  first  commenced  the  task  of  tuition,  he  had  pro- 
claimed the  humanest  abhorrence  to  the  barbarous  system  of 
corporeal  punishment.  But,  alas !  as  his  school  increased  in 
numbers,  he  had  proportionately  recanted  these  honorable  and 
anti-birchen  ideas.  He  had,  reluctantly,  perhaps, — honestly, 
no  doubt,  but  with  full  determination — come  to  the  conclusion 
that  there  are  .secret  springs  which  can  only  be  detected  by 
the  twigs  of  the  divining  rod  ;  and  having  discovered  with  what 
comparative  easethe  whole  mechanism  of  his  little  government 
could  be  carried  on  by  the  admission  of  the  birch-regulator,  so, 
as  he  grew  richer,  and  lazier,  and  fatter,  the  Philhellenic  Institute 
spun  along  as  glibly  as  a  top  kept  in  vivacious  movement  by 
the  perpetual  application  of  the  lash. 

I  believe  that  the  school  did  not  suffer  in  reputation  from 
this  sad  apostasy  on  the  part  of  the  head-master  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  seemed  more  natural  and  English — less  outlandish 
and  heretical.  And  it  was  at  the  zenith  of  its  renown, when,  one 
bright  morning,  with  all  my  clothes  nicely  mended,  and  a  large 
plumcake  in  my  box,  I  was  deposited  at  its  hospitable  gates. 

Amongst  Dr.  Herman's  various  whimsicalities,  there  was  one 
to  which  he  had  adhered  with  more  fidelity  than  to  the  anti- 
corporeal  punishment  articles  of  his  creed  ;  and,  in  fact,  it  was 
upon  this  that  he  had  caused  those  imposing  words,  "  Philhel- 
lenic Institute,"  to  blaze  in  gilt  capitals  in  front  of  his  academy. 
He  belonged  to  that  illustrious  class  of  scholars  who  are  now 
waging  war  on  our  popular  mythologies,  and  upsetting  all  the 
associations  which  the  Etonians  and  Harrovians  connect  with 
the  household  names  of  ancient  history.  In  a  word,  besought 
to  restore  to  scholastic  purity  the  mutilated  orthography  of 
Greek  appellatives.  He  was  extremely  indignant  that  little 
boys  should  be  brought  up  to  confound  Zeus  with  Jupiter, 
Ares  with  Mars,  Artemis  with  Diana — the  Greek  deities  with 
the  Roman  ;  and  so  rigidly  did  he  incnlcate  the  doctrine  that 
these  two  sets  of  personages  were  to  be  kept  constantly  con- 


28  THE    CAXTONS. 

tiadistingulshed  from  each  other,  that  his  cross-examinations 
kept  us  in  eternal  confusion. 

"  Vat,"  he  would  exclaim,  to  some  new  boy  fresh  from  some 
grammar  school  on  the  Etonian  system  ;  "  Vat  do  you  mean 
by  dranslating  Zeus  Jupiter  ?  Is  dat  amatory,  irascible,  cloud- 
compelling  god  of  Olympus,  vid  his  eagle  and  his  aegis,  in  the 
smallest  degree  resembling  de  grave,  formal,  moral  Jupiter 
Optimus  Maximus  of  the  Roman  Capitol  ? — a  god.  Master 
Simpkins,  who  would  have  been  perfectly  shocked  at  the  idea 
of  running  after  innocent  Frauiein  dressed  up  as  a  swan  or  a 
bull !  I  put  dat  question  to  you  vonce  for  all,  Master  Simp- 
kins."  Master  Simpkins  took  care  to  agree  with  the  Doctor. 
"  And  how  could  you,"  resumed  Dr.  Herman  majestically, 
turning  to  some  other  criminal  alumnus — "  How  could  you 
presume  to  dranslate  de  Ares  of  Homer,  sir,  by  the  audacious 
vulgarism  Mars  ?  Ares,  Master  Jones,  who  roared  as  loud  as 
ten  thousand  men  when  he  was  hurt  ;  or  as  you  will  roar  if  I 
catch  you  calling  him  Mars  again  !  Ares,  who  covered  seven 
plectra  of  ground  ;  confound  Ares,  the  manslayer,  with  the 
Mars  or  Mavors  v/hom  de  Romans  stole  from  de  Sabines  ! 
Mars,  de  solemn  and  calm  protector  of  Rome  !  Master  Jones, 
Master  Jones,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  !  "  And 
then  waxing  enthusiastic,  and  warming  more  and  more  into 
German  gutturals  and  pronunciation,  the  good  Doctor  would 
lift  up  his  hands,  with  two  great  rings  on  his  thumbs,  and 
exclaim:  "  Und  du  !  and  dou.  Aphrodite;  dou,  whose  bert 
de  Seasons  velcomed  !  dou,  who  didst  put  Atonis  into  a  coffer, 
and  den  tid  durn  him  into  an  anemone  ;  dou,  to  be  called 
Venus  by  dat  snivel-nosed  little  Master  Budderfield  !  Venus, 
who  presided  over  Baumgartens  and  funerals,  and  nasty  link- 
ing sewers  !  Venus  Cloacina — O  mein  Gott  !  Come  here, 
Master  Budderfield  ;  I  must  flog  you  for  dat  ;  I  must  indeed, 
liddle  boy  ! "  As  our  Philhellenic  preceptor  carried  his 
archaeological  purism  into  all  Greek  proper  names,  it  was  not 
likely  that  my  unhappy  baptismal  would  escape.  The  first 
time  I  signed  my  exercise  I  wrote  "  Pisistratus  Caxton  "  in  my 
best  round-hand.  "  And  dey  call  your  baba  a  scholar  !  "  said 
the  doctor  contemptuously.  "  Your  name,  sir,  is  Greek  ;  and, 
as  Greek,  you  vill  be  dood  enough  to  write  it,  vith  vat  you  call 
an  e  and  an  o — p,  e,  i,  s,  i,  s,  t,  r,  a,  t,  o,  s.  Vat  can  you 
expect  for  to  come  to.  Master  Caxton,  if  you  don't  pay  de  care 
dat  is  proper  to  your  own  dood  name — de  e,  and  de  <??  Ach  ! 
let  me  see  no  more  of  your  vile  corruptions  !  Mein  Gott  ! 
Pi  !  ven  de  name  is  Pei !  " 


THE    CAXTONS.  29 

The  next  time  I  wrote  home  to  my  father,  modestly  imply- 
ing that  I  was  short  of  cash,  that  a  trap-bat  would  be  accept- 
able, and  that  the  favorite  goddess  amongst  the  boys  (whether 
Greek  or  Roman  was  very  immaterial)  was  Diva  Moneta,  I  felt 
a  glow  of  classical  pride  in  signing  myself,  "  your  affectionate 
Peisistratos."  The  next  post  brought  a  sad  damper  to  my 
scholastic  exultation.     The  letter  ran  thus  : 

"  My  dear  Son  : 

"  I  prefer  my  old  acquaintances  Thucydides  and  Pisistratus 
to  Thoukudides  and  Peisistratos.  Horace  is  familiar  to  me, 
but  Horatius  is  only  known  to  me  as  Codes.  Pisistratus  can 
play  at  trap-ball  ;  but  I  find  no  authority  in  pure  Greek  to 
allow  me  to  suppose  that  that  game  was  known  to  Peisistratos. 
I  should  be  happy  to  send  you  a  drachma  or  so,  but  I  have  no 
coins  in  my  possession  current  at  Athens  at  the  time  when 
Pisistratus  was  spelt  Peisistratos. — Your  affectionate  father, 

"A.  Caxton." 

Verily,  here  indeed  was  the  first  practical  embarrassment 
produced  by  that  melancholy  anachronism  which  my  father 
had  so  prophetically  deplored.  However,  nothing  like  expe- 
rience to  prove  the  value  of  compromise  in  this  world  !  Pei- 
sistratos continued  to  write  exercises,  and  a  second  letter  from 
Pisistratus  was  followed  by  the  trap-bat. 


CHAPTER  II. 

I  WAS  somewhere  about  sixteen  when,  on  going  home  for 
the  holidays,  I  found  my  mother's  brother  settled  among  the 
household  Lares.  Uncle  Jack,  as  he  was  familiarly  called, 
was  a  light-hearted,  plausible,  enthusiastic,  talkative  fellow, 
who  had  spent  three  small  fortunes  in  trying  to  make  a  large 
one. 

Uncle  Jack  was  a  great  speculator  ;  but  in  all  his  specula- 
tions he  never  affected  to  think  of  himself  ;  it  was  always  the 
good  of  his  fellow-creatures  that  he  had  at  heart,  and  in  this 
ungrateful  world  fellow-creatures  are  not  to  be  relied  upon  ! 
On  coming  of  age,  he  inherited  ;^6ooo  from  his  maternal 
grandfather.  It  seemed  to  him  then  that  his  fellow-creatures 
were  sadly  imposed  upon  by  their  tailors.  Those  ninth  parts 
of  humanity  notoriously  eked  out  their  fractional  existence  by 
asking  nine  times  too  much  for  the  clothing  which  civilization, 
and  perhaps  a  change  of  climate,  render  more  necessary  to  us 


30  THE    CAX'iONS. 

than  to  our  predecessors,  the  Picts.  Out  of  pure  philan- 
thropy,  Uncle  Jack  started  a  "  Grand  National  Benevolent 
Clothing  Company,"  which  undertook  to  supply  the  public 
with  inexpressibles  of  the  best  Saxon  cloth  at  7s.  66.  a  pair  ; 
coats,  superfine,  j^j  i8s.  ;  and  waistcoats  at  so  much  per 
dozen.  They  were  to  be  all  worked  off  by  steam.  Thus  the 
rascally  tailors  were  to  be  put  down,  humanity  clad,  and  the 
philanthropists  rewarded  (but  that  was  a  secondary  considera- 
tion) with  a  clear  return  of  30  per  cent.  In  spite  of  the  evi- 
dent charitableness  of  this  Chri-stian  design,  and  the  irrefraga- 
ble calculations  upon  which  it  was  based,  this  company  died  a 
victim  to  the  ignorance  and  unthankfulness  of  our  fellow- 
creatures.  And  all  that  remained  of  Jack's  ;^6ooo  was  a  fifty- 
fourth  share  in  a  small  steam-engine,  a  large  assortment  of 
ready-made  pantaloons,  and  the  liabilities  of  the  directors. 

Uncle  Jack  disappeared,  and  went  on  his  travels.  The 
same  spirit  of  philanthropy  which  characterized  the  speculations 
of  his  purse  attended  the  risks  of  his  person.  Uncle  Jack 
had  a  natural  leaning  towards  all  distressed  communities  :  if 
any  tribe,  race,  or  nation  was  down  in  the  world,  Uncle  Jack 
threw  himself  plump  into  the  scale  to  redress  the  balance. 
Poles,  Greeks  (the  last  were  then  fighting  the  Turks),  Mexi- 
cans, Spaniards — Uncle  Jack  thrust  his  nose  into  all  their 
squabbles  !  Heaven  forbid  I  should  mock  thee,  poor  Uncle 
Jack,  for  those  generous  predilections  towards  the  unfortunate  ; 
only,  whenever  a  nation  is  in  a  misfortune,  there  is  always  a 
job  going  on !  The  Polish  cause,  the  Greek  cause,  the 
Mexican  cause,  and  the  Spanish  cause,  are  necessarily  mixed 
up  with  loans  and  subscriptions.  These  Continental  patriots, 
when  they  take  up  the  sword  with  one  hand,  generally  contrive 
to  thrust  the  other  hand  deep  into  their  neighbors'  breeches' 
pockets.  Uncle  Jack  went  to  Greece,  thence  he  went  to  Spain, 
thence  to  Mexico.  No  doubt  he  was  of  great  service  to  those 
afflicted  populations,  for  he  came  back  with  unanswerable 
proof  of  their  gratitude,  in  the  shape  of  ;^3ooo.  Shortly  after 
this  appeared  a  prospectus  of  the  "  New,  Grand,  National, 
Benevolent  Insurance  Company,  for  the  Industrious  Classes." 
This  invaluable  document,  after  setting  forth  the  immense 
benefits  to  society  arising  from  habits  of  providence,  and  the 
introduction  of  insurance  companies — proving  the  infamous 
rate  of  premiums  exacted  by  the  existent  offices,  and  their 
inapplicability  to  the  wants  of  the  honest  artisan,  and  declar- 
ing that  nothing  but  the  purest  intentions  of  benefiting  their 
fellow-creatures,  and  raising  the  moral  tone  of  society,  had 


THE    CAXTONS.  3 1 

led  the  directors  to  institute  a  new  society,  founded  on  the 
noblest  principles  and  the  most  moderate  calculations — pro- 
ceeded to  demonstrate  that  twenty-four  and  a  half  per  cent, 
was  the  smallest  possible  return  the  shareholders  could  antici- 
pate. The  company  began  under  the  fairest  auspices  :  an 
archbishop  was  caught  as  president,  on  the  condition  always 
that  he  should  give  nothing  but  his  name  to  the  society. 
Uncle  Jack — more  euphoniously  designated  as  "  the  celebrated 
philanthropist,  John  Jones  Tibbets,  Esquire  " — was  honorary 
secretary,  and  the  capital  stated  at  two  millions.  But  such 
was  the  obtuseness  of  the  industrious  classes,  so  little  did  they 
perceive  the  benefits  of  subscribing  one-and-ninepence  a  week 
from  the  age  of  twenty-one  to  fifty,  in  order  to  secure  at  the 
latter  age  the  annuity  of  j£jS,  that  the  company  dissolved  into 
thin  air,  and  with  it  dissolved  also  Uncle  Jack's  ^3000. 
Nothing  more  was  then  seen  or  heard  of  him  for  three  years. 
So  obscure  was  his  existence,  that  on  the  death  of  an  aunt 
who  left  him  a  small  farm  in  Cornwall,  it  was  necessary  to 
advertise  that  "  If  John  Jones  Tibbets,  Esq.,  would  apply  to 
Messrs.  Blunt  and  -Tin,  Lothbury,  between  the  hours  of  ten 
and  four,  he  would  hear  of  something  to  his  advantage." 
But,  even  as  a  conjuror  declares  that  he  will  call  the  ace  of 
spades,  and  the  ace  of  spades,  that  you  thought  you  had  safely 
under  your  foot,  turns  up  on  the  table — so  with  this  advertise- 
ment suddenly  turned  up  Uncle  Jack.  With  inconceivable 
satisfaction  did  the  new  landowner  settle  himself  in  his 
comfortable  homestead.  The  farm,  which  was  about  two 
hundred  acres,  was  in  the  best  possible  condition,  and  saving 
one  or  two  chemical  preparations,  v/hich  cost  Uncle  Jack, 
upon  the  most  scientific  principles,  thirty  acres  of  buckwheat, 
the  ears  of  which  came  up,  poor  things,  all  spotted  and  speckled, 
as  if  they  had  been  inoculated  v/ith  the  small-pox.  Uncle  Jack 
for  the  first  two  years  was  a  thriving  man.  Unluckily,  how- 
ever, one  day  Uncle  Jack  discovered  a  coal-mine  in  a  beautiful 
field  of  Swedish  turnips  ;  in  another  week  the  house  was  full 
of  engineers  and  naturalists,  and  in  another  month  appeared, 
in  my  uncle's  best  style,  much  improved  by  practice,  a  pros- 
pectus of  the  "  Grand,  National,  anti-Monopoly  Coal  Company, 
instituted  on  behalf  of  the  poor  householders  of  London,  and 
against  the  Monster  Monopoly  of  the  London  Coal  Wharfs. 

"  A  vein  of  the  finest  coal  has  been  discovered  on  the 
estates  of  the  celebrated  philanthropist,  John  Jones  Tibbets, 
Esq.  This  new  mine,  the  Molly  Wheal,  having  been  satisfac- 
torily tested  by  that  eminent  engineer,  Giles  Compass,  Esq., 


32  THE    CAXTONS. 

promises  an  inexhaustible  field  to  the  energies  of  the  benevo- 
lent and  the  wealth  of  the  capitalist.  It  is  calculated  that  the 
best  coals  may  be  delivered,  screened,  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Thames,  for  i8s.  per  load,  yielding  a  profit  of  not  less  than 
forty-eight  per  cent,  to  the  shareholders.  Shares,  ;^5o,  to  be 
paid  in  five  instalments.  Capital  to  be  subscribed,  one  million. 
For  shares,  early  application  must  be  made  to  Messrs.  Blunt 
and  Tin,  solicitors,  Lothbury." 

Here,  then,  was  something  tangible  for  fellow-creatures  to 
go  on — there  was  land,  there  was  a  mine,  there  was  coal,  and 
there  actually  came  shareholders  and  capital.  Uncle  Jack  was 
so  persuaded  that  his  fortune  was  now  to  be  made,  and  had, 
moreover,  so  great  a  desire  to  share  the  glory  of  ruining  the 
monster  monopoly  of  the  London  wharfs,  that  he  refused  a 
very  large  offer  to  dispose  of  the  property  altogether,  re- 
mained chief  shareholder,  and  removed  to  London,  where  he 
set  up  his  carriage,  and  gave  dinners  to  his  fellow-directors. 
For  no  less  than  three  years  did  this  company  flourish,  having 
submitted  the  entire  direction  and  working  of  the  mines  to 
that  eminent  engineer,  Giles  Compass  ;  twenty  per  cent,  was 
paid  regularly  by  that  gentleman  to  the  shareholders,  and  the 
shares  were  at  more  than  cent,  per  cent.,  when  one  bright 
morning  Giles  Compass,  Esq.,  unexpectedly  removed  himself 
to  that  wider  field  for  genius  like  his,  the  United  States ;  and 
it  was  discovered  that  the  mine  had  for  more  than  a  year  run 
itself  into  a  great  pit  of  water,  and  that  Mr.  Compass  had  been 
paying  the  shareholders  out  of  their  own  capital.  My  uncle 
had  the  satisfaction  this  time  of  being  ruined  in  very  good 
comoany  ;  three  doctors  of  divinity,  two  county  members,  a 
Scotch  lord,  and  an  East  India  director,  were  all  in  the  same 
boat — that  boat  which  went  down  with  the  coal-mine  into  the 
great  water-pit  ! 

It  was  just  after  this  event  that  Uncle  Jack,  sanguine  and 
light-hearted  as  ever,  suddenly  recollected  his  sister,  Mrs. 
Caxton,  and  not  knowing  where  else  to  dine,  thought  he  would 
repose  his  limbs  under  my  father's  trabcs  citrea,  which  the 
ingenious  W.  S.  Landor  opines  should  be  translated  "mahog- 
any," You  never  saw  a  more  charming  man  than  Uncle  Jack. 
All  plump  people  are  more  popular  than  thin  people.  There 
is  something  jovial  and  pleasant  in  the  sight  of  a  round  face  ! 
What  conspiracy  could  succeed  when  its  head  was  a  lean  and 
hungry-looking  fellow,  like  Cassius?  If  the  Roman  patriots 
had  had  Uncle  Jack  amongst  them,  perhaps  they  would  never 
have  furnished  a  tragedy  to  Shakspeare,     Uncle  Jack  was  as 


THE   CAXTONS.  33 

plump  as  a  partridge — not  unwieldy,  not  corpulent,  not  obese, 
not  "  vastus,''  which  Cicero  objects  to  in  an  orator — but  every 
crevice  comfortably  filled  up.  Like  the  ocean,  "  time  wrote  no 
wrinkles  on  his  glassy  (or  brassy)  brow."  His  natural  lines 
were  all  upward  curves,  his  smile  most  ingratiating,  his  eye  so 
frank,  even  his  trick  of  rubbing  his  clean,  well-fed,  English- 
looking  hands,  had  something  about  it  coaxing  and  debonnair, 
-something  that  actually  decoyed  you  into  trusting  your  money 
into  hands  so  prepossessing.  Indeed,  to  him  might  be  fully  ap- 
plied the  expression,  "  Sedem  animse  in  extremis  digitis  habet "  ; 
"  He  had  his  soul's  seat  in  his  finger-ends."  The  critics  ob- 
serve that  few  men  have  ever  united  in  equal  perfection  the 
imaginative  with  the  scientific  faculties.  "  Happy  he,"  ex- 
claims Schiller,  "  who  combines  the  enthusiast's  warmth  with 
the  worldly  man's  light  " — light  and  warmth,  Uncle  Jack  had 
them  both.  He  was  a  perfect  symphony  of  bewitching  en- 
thusiasm and  convincing  calculation.  Dicaeopolis  in  the 
"  Acharnenses,"  in  presenting  a  gentleman  called  Nicharchus 
to  the  audience,  observes  :  "  He  is  small,  I  confess,  but  there 
is  nothing  lost  in  him  ;  all  is  knave  that  is  not  fool."  Parody- 
ing the  equivocal  compliment,  I  may  say  that  though  Uncle 
Jack  was  no  giant,  there  was  nothing  lost  in  him.  Whatever 
was  not  philanthropy  was  arithmetic,  and  whatever  was  not 
arithmetic  was  philanthropy.  He  would  have  been  equally 
dear  to  Howard  and  to  Cocker.  Uncle  Jack  was  comely,  too, 
clear-skinned  and  florid,  had  a  little  mouth,  with  good  teeth, 
wore  no  whiskers,  shaved  his  beard  as  close  as  if  it  were  one 
of  his  grand  national  companies  ;  his  hair,  once  somewhat 
sandy,  was  now  rather  grayish,  which  increased  the  respec- 
tability of  of  his  appearance  ;  and  he  wore  it  flat  at  the  sides 
and  raised  in  a  peak  at  the  top  :  his  organs  of  constructive- 
ness  and  ideality  were  pronounced  by  Mr.  Squills  to  be  pro- 
digious, and  those  freely  developed  bumps  gave  great  breadth 
to  his  forehead.  Well-shaped,  too,  was  Uncle  Jack,  about  five 
feet  eight,  the  proper  height  for  an  active  man  of  business. 
He  wore  a  black  coat  ;  but  to  make  the  nap  look  the  fresher, 
he  had  given  it  the  relief  of  gilt  buttons,  on  which  were  wrought 
a  small  crown  and  anchor  ;  at  a  distance  this  button  looked 
like  the  king's  button,  and  gave  him  the  air  of  one  who  has  a 
place  about  Court.  He  always  wore  a  white  neckcloth  with- 
out starch,  a  frill,  and  a  diamond  pin,  which  last  furnished  him 
with  observations  upon  certain  mines  of  Mexico,  which  he  had 
a  great,  but  hitherto  unsatisfied,  desire  of  seeing  worked  by  a 
grand  National  United  Britons  Company.     His  waistcoat  of  a 


34  THE    CAXTONS. 

morning  was  pale  buff  ;  of  an  evening,  embroidered  velvet ; 
wherewith  were  connected  sundry  schemes  of  an  "  association 
for  the  improvement  of  native  manufactures."  His  trousers, 
matutinally,  were  of  the  color  vulgarly  called  '*  blotting-paper," 
and  he  never  wore  boots,  which,  he  said,  unfitted  a  man  for 
exercise,  but  short  drab  gaiters  and  square-toed  shoes.  His 
watch-chain  was  garnished  with  a  vast  number  of  seals  :  each 
seal,  indeed,  represented  the  device  of  some  defunct  company, 
and  they  might  be  said  to  resemble  the  scalps  of  the  slain, 
worn  by  the  aboriginal  Iroquois — concerning  whom,  indeed, 
he  had  once  entertained  philanthropic  designs,  compounded  of 
conversion  to  Christianity  on  the  principles  of  the  English 
Episcopal  Church,  and  of  an  advantageous  exchange  of  beaver- 
skins  for  Bibles,  brandy,  and  gunpowder. 

That  Uncle  Jack  should  vt^in  my  heart  was  no  wonder  ;  my 
mother's  he  had  always  won  from  her  earliest  recollection  of 
his  having  persuaded  her  to  let  her  great  doll  (a  present  from 
her  godmother)  be  put  up  to  a  raffle  for  the  benefit  of  the 
chimney-sweepers.  "  So  like  him — so  good  !  "  she  would  often 
say  pensively  ;  "  they  paid  sixpence  apiece  for  the  raffle — 
twenty  tickets,  and  the  doll  cost  £^2.  Nobody  was  taken  in, 
and  the  doll,  poor  thing  (it  had  such  blue  eyes  !)  went  for  a 
quarter  of  its  value.  But  Jack  said  nobody  could  guess  what 
good  the  ten  shillings  did  to  the  chimney-sweepers."  Naturally 
enough,  I  say,  my  mother  liked  Uncle  Jack  !  but  my  father 
liked  him  quite  as  well,  and  that  was  a  strong  proof  of  my 
uncle's  powers  of  captivation.  However  it  is  noticeable  that 
when  some  retired  scholar  is  once  interested  in  an  active  man 
of  the  world,  he  is  more  inclined  to  admire  him  than  others 
are.  Sympathy  with  such  a  companion  gratifies  at  once  his 
curiosity  and  his  indolence  ;  he  can  travel  with  him,  scheme 
with  him,  fight  with  him,  go  with  him  through  all  the  adven- 
tures of  which  his  own  books  speak  so  eloquently,  and  all  the 
time  never  stir  from  his  easy-chair.  My  father  said  "  that  it 
was  like  listening  to  Ulysses  to  hear  Uncle  Jack  !  "  Uncle 
Jack,  too,  had  been  in  Greece  and  Asia  Minor,  gone  over  the 
site  of  the  siege  of  Troy,  ate  figs  at  Marathon,  shot  hares  in 
the  Peloponnesus,  and  drank  three  pints  of  brown  stout  at  the 
top  of  the  Great  Pyramid. 

Therefore,  Uncle  Jack  was  like  a  book  of  reference  to  my 
father.  Verily  at  times  he  looked  on  him  as  a  book,  and 
took  him  down  after  dinner  as  he  would  a  volume  of  Dodwell 
or  Pausanias.  In  fact,  I  believe  that  scholars  who  never  move 
from  their  cells  are  not  the  less  an  eminently  curious,  bustling, 


THE   CAXTONS.  35 

active  race,  rightly  understood.  Even  as  old  Burton  saith  of 
himself  :  "  Though  I  live  a  collegiate  student,  and  lead  a 
monastic  life,  sequestered  from  those  tumults  and  troubles  of 
the  world,  I  hear  and  see  what  is  done  abroad,  how  others 
run,  ride,  turmoil,  and  macerate  themselves  in  town  and 
country  "  :  which  citation  sufficeth  to  show  that  scholars  are 
naturally  the  most  active  men  of  the  world,  only  that  while 
their  heads  plot  with  Augustus,  fight  with  Julius,  sail  with 
Columbus,  and  change  the  face  of  the  globe  with  Alexander, 
Attila,  or  Mahomet,  there  is  a  certain  mysterious  attraction, 
which  our  improved  knowledge  of  mesmerism  will  doubtless 
soon  explain  to  the  satisfaction  of  science,  between  that  ex- 
tremer  and  antipodal  part  of  the  human  frame,  called  in  the 
vulgate  "the  seat  of  honor,"  and  the  stuffed  leather  of  an 
armed  chair.  Learning  somehow  or  other  sinks  down  to  that 
part  into  which  it  was  first  driven,  and  produces  therein  a 
leaden  heaviness  and  weight,  which  counteract  those  lively 
emotions  of  the  brain,  that  might  otherwise  render  students 
too  mercurial  and  agile  for  the  safety  of  established  order.  I 
leave  this  conjecture  to  the  consideration  of  experimentalists 
in  the  physics. 

I  was  still  more  delighted  than  my  father  with  Uncle  Jack, 
He  was  full  of  amusing  tricks,  could  conjure  wonderfully,  make 
a  bunch  of  keys  dance  a  hornpipe,  and  if  ever  you  gave  him 
half-a-crown,  he  was  sure  to  turn  it  into  a  halfpenny.  He  was 
only  unsuccessful  in  turning  my  halfpennies  into  half-crowns. 

We  took  long  walks  together,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  most 
diverting  conversation  my  uncle  v/as  ahvays  an  observer.  He 
would  stop  to  examine  the  nature  of  the  soil,  fill  my  pockets 
(not  his  own)  with  great  lumps  of  clay,  stones,  and  rubbish,  to 
analyze  when  he  got  home,  by  the  help  of  some  chemical 
apparatus  he  had  borrowed  from  Mr.  Squills.  He  would  stand 
an  hour  at  a  cottage  door,  admiring  the  little  girls  who  were 
straw-platting,  and  then  walk  into  the  nearest  farm-houses,  to 
suggest  the  feasibility  of  "a  national  straw-plat  association." 
All  this  fertility  of  intellect  was,  alas  !  wasted  in  that  "  ingrata 
terra"  into  which  Uncle  Jack  had  fallen.  No  squire  could 
be  persuaded  into  the  belief  that  his  mother-stone  was  preg- 
nant with  minerals  ;  no  farmer  talked  into  weaving  straw-plat 
into  a  proprietary  association.  So,  even  as  an  ogre,  having 
devastated  the  surrounding  country,  begins  to  cast  a  hungry 
eye  on  his  own  little  ones,  Uncle  Jack's  mouth,  long  defrauded 
of  juicier  and  more  legitimate  morsels,  began  to  water  for  a 
bite  of  my  innocent  father. 


36  THE    CAXTONS. 


CHAPTER  III. 

At  this  time  we  were  living  in  what  may  be  called  a  very 
respectable  style  for  people  who  made  no  pretence  to  ostenta- 
tion. On  the  skirts  of  a  large  village  stood  a  square  red  brick 
house,  about  the  date  of  Queen  Anne.  Upon  the  top  of  the 
house  was  a  balustrade  ;  why,  heaven  knows — for  nobody, 
except  our  great  tom-cat  Ralph,  ever  walked  upon  the  leads — 
but  so  it  was,  and  so  it  often  is  in  houses  from  the  time  of 
Elizabeth,  yea,  even  to  that  of  Victoria.  This  balustrade  was 
divided  by  low  piers,  on  each  of  which  was  placed  a  round 
ball.  The  centre  of  the  house  was  distinguishable  by  an 
architrave,  in  the  shape  of  a  triangle,  under  which  was  a  niche, 
probably  meant  for  a  figure,  but  the  figure  was  not  forthcom- 
ing. Below  this  was  the  window  (encased  with  carved  pil- 
asters) of  my  dear  mother's  little  sitting-room  ;  and  lower 
still,  raised  on  a  flight  of  six  steps,  was  a  very  handsome- 
looking  door,  with  a  projecting  porch.  All  the  windows,  with 
smallish  panes  and  largish  frames,  were  relieved  with  stone 
copings  ;  so  that  the  house  had  an  air  of  solidity,  and  well-to- 
do-ness  about  it — nothing  tricky  on  the  one  hand,  nothing 
decayed  on  the  other.  The  house  stood  a  little  back  from  the 
garden  gates,  which  were  large,  and  set  between  two  piers 
surmounted  with  vases.  Many  might  object,  that  in  wet 
weather  you  had  to  walk  some  way  to  your  carriage  ;  but  we 
obviated  that  objection  by  not  keeping  a  carriage.  To  the 
right  of  the  house  the  enclosure  contained  a  little  lawn,  a 
laurel  hermitage,  a  square  pond,  a  modest  green-house,  and 
half-a-dozen  plots  of  mignonette,  heliotrope,  roses,  pinks, 
sweetwilliam,  etc.  To  the  left  spread  the  kitchen-garden, 
lying  screened  by  espaliers  yielding  the  finest  apples  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  divided  by  three  winding  gravel  walks,  of 
which  the  extremest  was  backed  by  a  wall,  whereon,  as  it  lay 
full  south,  peaches,  pears,  and  nectarines  sunned  themselves 
early  into  well-remembered  flavor.  This  walk  was  appro- 
priated to  my  father.  Book  in  hand,  he  would,  on  fine  days, 
pace  to  and  fro,  often  stopping,  dear  man,  to  jot  down  a 
pencil-note,  gesticulate,  or  soliloquize.  And  there,  when  not 
in  his  study,  my  mother  would  be  sure  to  find  him.  In  these 
deambulations,  as  he  called  them,  he  had  generally  a  com- 
panion so  extraordinary,  that  I  expect  to  be  met  with  a  hillalu 
of  incredulous  contempt  when  I  specify  it.  Nevertheless  I 
vow  and  protest  that  it  is  strictly  true,  and  no  invention  of  an 


THE   CAXTONS.  37 

exaggerating  romancer.  It  happened  one  day  that  my  mother 
had  coaxed  Mr.  Caxton  to  walk  with  her  to  market.  By  the 
way  they  passed  a  sward  of  green,  on  which  sundry  little  boys 
were  engaged  upon  the  lapidation  of  a  lame  duck.  It  seemed 
that  the  duck  was  to  have  been  taken  to  market,  when  it  was 
discovered  not  only  to  be  lame,  but  dyspeptic  ;  perhaps  some 
weed  had  disagreed  with  its  ganglionic  apparatus,  poor  thing. 
However  that  be,  the  goodwife  had  declared  that  the  duck 
was  good  for  nothing  ;  and  upon  the  petition  of  her  children, 
it  had  been  consigned  to  them  for  a  little  innocent  amusement, 
and  to  keep  them  out  of  harm's  way.  My  mother  declared 
that  she  never  before  saw  her  lord  and  master  roused  to  such 
animation.  He  dispersed  the  urchins,  released  the  duck, 
carried  it  home,  kept  it  in  a  basket  by  the  fire,  fed  it  and 
physicked  it  till  it  recovered  ;  and  then  it  was  consigned  to 
the  square  pond.  But  lo  !  the  duck  knew  its  benefactor  ;  and 
whenever  my  father  appeared  outside  his  door,  it  would  catch 
sight  of  him,  flap  from  the  pond,  gain  the  lawn,  and  hobble 
after  him  (for  it  never  quite  recovered  the  use  of  its  left  leg), 
till  it  reached  the  walk  by  the  peaches  ;  and  there  sometimes 
it  would  sit,  gravely  watching  its  master's  deambulations ; 
sometimes  stroll  by  his  side,  and,  at  all  events,  never  leave 
him  till,  at  his  return  home,  he  fed  it  with  his  own  hands  ; 
and,  quacking  her  peaceful  adieus,  the  nymph  then  retired  to 
her  natural  element. 

With  the  exception  of  my  mother's  favorite  morning-room,  the 
principal  sitting-rooms — that  is,  the  study,  the  dining-room,  and 
what  was  emphatically  called  ''the  best  drawing-room,"  which 
was  only  occupied  on  great  occasions — looked  south.  Tall 
beeches,  firs,  poplars,  and  a  few  oaks,  backed  the  house,  and 
indeed  surrounded  it  on  all  sides  but  the  south ;  so  that  it  was 
well  sheltered  from  the  winter  cold  and  the  summer  heat. 
Our  principal  domestic,  in  dignity  and  station,  was  Mrs.  Prim- 
mins,  who  was  waiting  gentlewoman,  housekeeper,  and  tyran- 
nical dictatrix  of  the  whole  establishment.  Two  other  maids, 
a  gardener,  and  a  footman,  composed  the  rest  of  the  serving 
household.  Save  a  few  pasture-fields,  which  he  let,  my  father 
was  not  troubled  with  land.  His  income  was  derived  from  the 
interest  of  about  ^15,000,  partly  in  the  three  per  cents.,  partly 
on  mortgage  ;  and  what  with  my  mother  and  Mrs.  Primmins, 
this  income  always  yielded  enough  to  satisfy  my  father's  single 
hobby  for  books,  pay  for  my  education,  and  entertain  our 
neighbors,  rarely,  indeed,  at  dinner,  but  very  often  at  tea. 
My  dear  mother  boasted  that  our  society  was  very  select.     It 


38  THE   CAXTONS. 

consisted  chiefly  of  the  clergyman  and  his  family,  two  old 
maids  who  gave  themselves  great  airs,  a  gentleman  who  had 
been  in  the  East  India  service,  and  who  lived  in  a  large  white 
house  at  the  top  of  the  hill ;  some  half-a-dozen  squires  and 
their  wives  and  children  ;  Mr.  Squills,  still  a  bachelor  :  and 
once  a  year  cards  were  exchanged — and  dinners  too — with 
certain  aristocrats,  who  inspired  my  mother  with  a  great  deal 
of  unnecessary  awe  ;  since  she  declared  they  were  the  most 
good-natured,  easy  people  in  the  world,  and  always  stuck  their 
cards  in  the  most  conspicuous  part  of  the  looking-glass  frame 
over  the  chimney-piece  of  the  best  drawing-room.  Thus  you 
perceive  that  our  natural  position  was  one  highly  creditable  to 
us,  proving  the  soundness  of  our  finances  and  the  gentility  of 
our  pedigree — of  which  last  more  hereafter.  At  present  I 
content  myself  with  saying  on  that  head,  that  even  the  proudest 
of  the  neighboring  squirearchs  always  spoke  of  us  as  a  very 
ancient  family.  But  all  my  father  ever  said,  to  evince  pride 
of  ancestry,  was  in  honor  of  William  Caxton,  citizen  and  printer 
in  the  reign  of  Edward  IV. — "  Clarum  et  venerabile  nomen  !  " 
an  ancestor  a  man  of  letters  might  be  justly  vain  of. 

"  Heus,"  said  my  father,  stopping  short,  and  lifting  his  eyes 
from  the  Colloquies  of  Erasmus,"  salve  multum,  jucundis- 
sime." 

Uncle  Jack  was  not  much  of  a  scholar,  but  he  knew  enough 
Latin  to  answer,  "  Salve  tantundem,  mi  frater." 

My  father  smiled  approvingly.  "  I  see  you  comprehend 
true  urbanity,  or  politeness,  as  we  phrase  it.  There  is  an  ele- 
gance in  addressing  the  husband  of  your  sister  as  brother. 
Erasmus  commends  it  in  his  opening  chapter,  under  the  head 
of  '  Salutandi  formulae.'  And,  indeed,"  added  my  father 
thoughtfully,  "  there  is  no  great  difference  between  politeness 
and  affection.  My  author  here  observes  that  it  is  polite  to 
express  salutation  in  certain  minor  distresses  of  nature.  One 
should  salute  a  gentleman  in  yawning,  salute  him  in  hiccuping, 
salute  him  in  sneezing,  salute  him  in  coughing  ;  and  that  evi- 
dently because  of  your  interest  in  his  health  ;  for  he  may  dis- 
locate his  jaw  in  yawning,  and  the  hiccup  is  often  a  symptom 
of  grave  disorder,  and  sneezing  is  perilous  to  the  small  blood- 
vessels of  the  head,  and  coughing  is  either  a  tracheal,  bron- 
chial, pulmonary,  or  ganglionic  affection." 

"Very  true.  The  Turks  always  salute  in  sneezing,  and  they 
are  a  remarkably  polite  people,"  said  Uncle  Jack.  "  But,  my 
dear  brother,!  was  just  looking  with  admiration  at  these  apple- 
trees  of  yours.     I   never    saw  finer.     I  am  a  great  judge  of 


THE    CAXTONS,  39 

apples.  I  find,  in  talking  with  my  sister,  that  you  inake  very 
little  profit  by  them.  That's  a  pity.  One  might  establish  a 
cider  orchard  in  this  county.  You  can  take  your  own  fields 
in  hand  ;  you  can  hire  more,  so  as  to  make  the  whole,  say  a 
hundred  acres.  You  can  plant  a  very  extensive  apple-orchard 
on  a  grand  scale.  I  have  just  run  through  the  calculations  ; 
they  are  quite  startling.  Take  40  trees  per  acre — that's  the 
proper  average — at  is.  6d.  per  tree;  4000  trees  for  100  acres, 
^300;  labor  of  digging,  trenching,  say  p^io  an  acre — total 
lor  ICO  acres,  ^1000.  Pave  the  bottoms  of  the  holes  to  pre- 
vent the  tap-root  striking  down  into  the  bad  soil — oh,  I  am 
very  close  and  careful,  you  .see,  in  all  minutiae  ! — always  was — 
pave  'em  with  rubbish  and  stones,  6d.  a  hole  ;  that  for  4000 
trees  the  100  acres  is  p^ioo.  Add  the  rent  of  the  land,  at  30s. 
an  acre,  ;^i5o.  And  liow  stands  the  total?"  Here  Uncle 
Jack  proceeded  rapidly  ticking  off  the  items  with  his  fingers  : 
" 'I'rees,  ;^3oo  ;  labor,  ^jooo  ;  paving  holes,  ^j^  100  ;  rent, 
^'150;  Total,  ^1550.  That's  your  expense.  Mark. — Now  to 
the  profit.  Orchards  in  Kent  realize  ^-/^loo  an  acre,  some  even 
;^i5o  ;  but  let's  be  moderate,  say  only  ^^o  an  acre,  and  your 
gross  profit  per  year,  from  a  capital  of  ;^  1550,  will  be  ^5000 — 
^5000  a  year.  Think  of  that.  Brother  Caxton.  Deduct  10  per 
cent.,  or  ^500  a  year,  for  gardeners'  wages,  manure,  etc.,  and 
the  net  product  is  ^4500.  Your  fortune's  made,  man — it  is 
made — I  wish  you  joy  ! "     And  Uncle  Jack  rubbed  his  hands. 

"  Bless  me,  father,"  said  eagerly  the  young  Pisistratus,  who 
had  swallowed  with  ravished  ears  every  syllable  and  figure  of 
this  inviting  calculation,  "  Why,  we  should  be  as  rich  as  Squire 
Rollick  ;  and  then,  you  know,  sir,  you  could  keep  a  pack  of 
fox-hounds  !  " 

"  And  buy  a  large  library,"  added  Uncle  Jack,  with  more 
subtle  knowledge  of  human  nature  as  to  its  appropriate  temp- 
tations. "  There's  my  friend  the  archbishop's  collection  to 
be  sold.  ' 

Slowly  recovering  his  breath,  my  father  gently  turned  his 
eyes  from  one  to  the  other  ;  and  then,  laying  his  left  hand  on 
my  head,  while  with  the  right  he  held  up  Erasmus  rebukingly 
to  Uncle  Jack,  said  : 

"  See  how  easily  you  can  sow  covetousness  and  avidity  in 
the  youthful  mind  !     Ah,  brother  !  " 

"You  are  too  severe,  sir.  See  how  the  dear  boy  hangs  his 
head  !  Fie  ! — natural  enthusiasm  of  his  years — '  gay  hope  by 
fancy  fed,'  as  the  poet  says.  Why,  for  that  fine  boy's  sake, 
vou  ought  not  to  lose  so  certain  an  occasion  of  wealth,  I  may 


40  THE   CAXTONS. 

say,  untold.  For,  observe,  you  will  form  a  nursery  of  crabs ; 
each  year  you  go  on  grafting  and  enlarging  your  plantation, 
renting,  nay,  why  not  buying,  more  land  ?  Gad,  sir !  in 
twenty  years  you  might  cover  half  the  county  ;  but  say  you 
stop  short  at  2000  acres,  why,  the  net  profit  is  ^90,000  a  year. 
A  duke's  income — a  duke's — and  going  a-begging  as  I  may 
say." 

"But  stop,"  said  I  modestly;  "the  trees  don't  grow  in  a 
year.  I  know  when  our  last  apple-tree  was  planted — it  is  five 
years  ago — it  was  then  three  years  old,  and  it  only  bore  one 
half-bushel  last  autumn." 

"  What  an  intelligent  lad  it  is  ! — Good  head  there.  Oh, 
he'll  do  credit  to  his  great  fortune,  brother,"  said  Uncie  Jack 
approvingly.  "True,  my  boy.  But  in  the  mean  while  we 
could  fill  the  ground,  as  they  do  in  Kent,  with  gooseberries 
and  currants,  or  onions  and  cabbages.  Nevertheless,  con- 
sidering we  are  not  great  capitalists,  I  am  afraid  we  must  give 
up  a  share  of  our  profits  to  diminish  our  outlay.  So,  harkye, 
Pisistratus  (look  at  him,  brother — simple  as  he  stands  there,  I 
think  he  is  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth) — harkye, 
now  to  the  mysteries  of  speculation.  Your  father  shall  quietly 
buy  the  land,  and  then,  presto !  we  will  issue  a  prospectus, 
and  start  a  Company.  Associations  can  wait  five  years  for 
a  return.  Every  year,  meanwhile,  increases  the  value  of  the 
shares.  Your  father  takes,  we  say,  fifty  shares  at  ^£^0  each, 
paying  only  an  instalment  of  ^2  a  share.  He  sells  thirty-five 
shares  at  cent,  per  cent.  He  keeps  the  remaining  fifteen,  and 
his  fortune's  made  all  the  same  ;  only  it  is  not  quite  so  large 
as  if  he  had  kept  the  whole  concern  in  his  own  hands.  What 
say  you  now.  Brother  Caxton  ?  '  V/sne  edere  pomum  ?  '  as  we 
used  to  say  at  school." 

"  I  don't  want  a  shilling  more  than  I  have  got,"  said  my 
father  resolutely.  "  My  wife  would  not  love  me  better ;  my 
food  would  not  nourish  me  more  ;  my  boy  would  not,  in  all 
probability,  be  half  so  hardy,  or  a  tenth  part  so  industrious  ; 
and—" 

"  But,"  interrupted  Uncle  Jack  pertinaciously,  and  reserving 
his  grand  argument  for  the  last,  "the  good  you  would  confer 
on  the  community — the  progress  given  to  the  natural  produc- 
tions of  your  country,  the  wholesome  beverage  of  cider, 
brought  within  cheap  reach  of  the  laboring  classes.  If  it  was 
only  for  your  sake,  should  I  have  urged  this  question  ?  Should 
I  now  ?  Is  it  in  my  character  ?  But  for  the  sake  of  the  public  ! 
Mankind  !      Of   our  fellow-creatures  !      Why,  sir,    England 


THE   CAXTONS.  4I 

could  not  get  on  if  gentlemen  like  you  had  not  a  little  philan- 
thropy  and  speculation." 

"  Papae  !  "  exclaimed  my  father,  "  to  think  that  England 
can't  get  on  without  turning  Austin  Caxlon  into  an  apple- 
merchant  !  My  dear  Jack,  listen.  You  remind  me  of  a  col- 
loquy in  this  book  ;  wait  a  bit — here  it  is — ^^ Famphagus  and 
Codes." — Codes  recognizes  his  friend,  who  had  been  absent 
for  many  years,  by  his  eminent  and  remarkable  nose.  Pam- 
phagus  says,  rather  irritably,  that  he  is  not  ashamed  of  his 
nose.  '  Ashamed  of  it !  no,  indeed,'  says  Codes  :  '  I  never 
saw  a  nose  that  could  be  put  to  so  many  uses  !  '  '  Ha,'  says 
Pamphagus  (whose  curiosity  is  aroused),  '  uses  !  What  uses  ? ' 
Whereon  {lepidissime  f rater  !^  Codes,  with  eloquence  as  rapid 
as  yours,  runs  on  with  a  countless  list  of  the  uses  to  which  so 
vast  a  development  of  the  organ  can  be  applied.  '  If  the  cellar 
was  deep,  it  could  sniff  up  the  wine  like  an  elephant's  trunk  ; 
if  the  bellows  were  missing,  it  could  blow  the  fire  ;  if  the  lamp 
was  too  glaring,  it  could  suffice  for  a  shade  ;  it  would  serve  as 
a  speaking-trumpet  to  a  herald  ;  it  could  sound  a  signal  of 
battle  in  the  field  ;  it  would  do  for  a  wedge  in  wood-cutting, 
a  spade  for  digging,  a  scythe  for  mowing,  an  anchor  in  sailing  ; 
till  Pamphagus  cries  out,  '  Lucky  dog  that  I  am !  and  I  never 
knew  before  what  a  useful  piece  of  furniture  I  carried  about 
with  me.'  "  My  father  paused  and  strove  to  whistle,  but  that 
effort  of  harmony  failed  him,  and  he  added,  smiling :  "  So 
much  for  my  apple-trees.  Brother  John.  Leave  them  to  their 
natural  destination  of  filling  tarts  and  dumplings." 

Uncle  Jack  looked  a  little  discomposed  for  a  moment ;  but 
he  then  laughed  with  his  usual  heartiness,  and  saw  that  he  had 
not  yet  got  to  my  father's  blind  side.  I  confess  that  my 
revered  parent  rose  in  my  estimation  after  that  conference  ; 
and  I  began  to  see  that  a  man  may  not  be  quite  without  com- 
mon-sense, though  he  is  a  scholar.  Indeed,  whether  it  was 
that  Uncle  Jack's  visit  acted  as  a  gentle  stimulant  to  his 
relaxed  faculties,  or  that  I,  now  grown  older  and  wiser,  began 
to  see  his  character  more  clearly,  I  date  from  those  summer 
holidays  the  commencement  of  that  familiar  and  endearing 
intimacy  which  ever  after  existed  between  my  father  and 
myself.  Often  I  deserted  the  more  extensive  rambles  of  Uncle 
Jack,  or  the  greater  allurements  of  a  cricket-match  in  the  vil- 
lage, or  a  day's  fishing  in  Squire  Rollick's  preserves,  for  a 
quiet  stroll  with  my  father  by  the  old  peach-wall — sometimes 
silent,  indeed,  and  already  musing  over  the  future,  while  he 
was  busy  with  the  past,  but  amply  rewarded  when,  suspending 


42  THE    CAXTONS. 

his  lecture,  he  would  pour  forth  hoards  of  varied  learning, 
rendered  amusing  by  his  quaint  comments,  and  that  Socratic 
satire  which  only  fell  short  of  wit  because  it  never  passed  into 
malice.  At  some  moments,  indeed,  the  vein  ran  into  elo- 
quence ;  and  with  some  fine  heroic  sentiment  in  his  old  books, 
his  stooping  form  rose  erect,  his  eye  flashed  ;  and  you  saw 
that  he  had  not  been  originally  formed  and  wholly  meant  for 
the  obscure  seclusion  in  which  his  harmless  days  now  wore 
contentedly  away. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Egad,  sir,  the  county  is  going  to  the  dogs  !  Our  senti- 
ments are  not  represented  in  Parliament  or  out  of  it.  The 
County  Mercury  has  ratted,  and  be  hanged  to  it  !  and  now  we 
have  not  one  newspaper  in  the  whole  shire  to  express  the  sen- 
timents of  the  respectable  part  of  the  community  !  " 

This  speech  was  made  on  the  occasion  of  one  of  the  rare 
dinners  given  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Caxton  to  the  grandees  of 
the  neighborhood,  and  uttered  by  no  less  a  person  than 
Squire  Rollick,  of  Rollick  Hall,  chairman  of  the  quarter- 
sessions. 

I  confess  that  I  (for  I  was  permitted  on  that  first  occasion 
not  only  to  dine  with  the  guests,  but  to  out-stay  the  ladies,  in 
virtue  of  my  growing  years,  and  my  promise  to  abstain  from 
the  decanters) — I  confess,  I  say,  that  I,  poor  innocent,  was 
puzzled  to  conjecture  what  sudden  interest  in  the  county  news- 
paper could  cause  Uncle  Jack  to  prick  up  his  ears  like  a  war- 
horse  at  the  sound  of  the  drum,  and  rush  so  incontinently 
across  the  interval  between  Squire  Rollick  and  himself.  But 
the  mind  of  that  deep  and  truly  knowing  man  was  not  to  be 
plumbed  by  a  chit  of  my  age.  You  could  not  fish  for  the  shy 
salmon  in  that  pool  with  a  crooked  pin  and  a  bobbin,  as  you 
would  for  minnows  ;  or,  to  indulge  in  a  more  worthy  illustra- 
tion, you  could  not  say  of  him,  as  St.  Gregory  saith  of  the 
streams  of  Jordan,  "  A  lamb  could  wade  easily  through  that 
ford." 

"  Not  a  county  newspaper  to  advocate  the  rights  of — "  here 
my  uncle  stopped,  as  if  at  a  loss,  and  whispered  in  my  ear  : 
"  What  are  his  politics  ? "  "  Don't  know,"  answered  I.  Uncle 
Jack  intuitively  took  down  from  his  memory  the  phrase  most 
readily  at  hand,  and  added,  with  a  nasal  intonation,  "the 
rights  of  our  distressed  fellow-creatures  !  " 

My  father  scratched  his  eyebrow  with  his  forefinger,  as  he 


THE    CAXTONS.  43 

was  apt  to  do  when  doubtful  ;  the  rest  of  the  company — a 
silent  set — looked  up. 

"  Fellow-creatures  !  "  said  Mr.  Rollick — "  fellow-fiddle- 
sticks !  " 

Uncle  Jack  was  clearly  in  the  wrong  box.  He  drew  out  of 
it  cautiously  :  "  I  mean,"  said  he,  "  our  respectable  fellow-creat- 
ures ";  and  then  suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  that  a  County 
Mercury  would  naturally  represent  the  agricultural  interest, 
and  that  if  Mr.  Rollick  said  that  the  "  County  Afercury  ought  to 
be  hanged,"  he  was  one  of  those  politicians  who  had  already 
begun  to  call  the  agricultural  interest  "  a  Vampire."  Flushed 
with  that  fancied  discovery,  Uncle  Jack  rushed  on,  intending 
to  bear  along  with  the  stream,  thus  fortunately  directed,  all 
the  "  rubbish  "  *  subsequently  shot  into  Covent  Garden  and 
Hall  of  Commerce. 

*'  Yes,  respectable  fellow-creatures,  men  of  capital  and  en- 
terprise !  For  what  are  these  country  squires  compared  to 
our  wealthy  merchants  ?  What  is  this  agricultural  interest 
that  professes  to  be  the  prop  of  the  land  ?  " 

"  Professes  !  "  cried  Squire  Rollick — "  it  is  the  prop  of  the 
land  ;  and  as  for  those  manufacturing  fellows  who  have  bought 
up  the  Mercury — " 

"  Bought  up  the  Mercury,  have  they,  the  villains  !  "  cried 
Uncle  Jack,  interrupting  the  Squire,  and  now  bursting  into 
full  scent — '*  Depend  upon  it,  sir,  it  is  a  part  of  a  diabolical 
system  of  buying  up,  which  must  be  exposed  manfully.  Yes, 
as  I  was  saying,  what  is  that  agricultural  interest  which  they  de- 
sire to  ruin?  which  they  declare  to  be  so  bloated  ?  which  they  call 

*  a  vampire'! — they  the  true  blood-suckers,  the  venomous  mill- 
ocrats  !  Fellow-creatures,  sir  !  I  may  well  call  distressed  fel- 
low-creatures the  members  of  that  much-suffering  class  of  which 
you  yourself  are  an  ornament.  What  can  be  more  deserving  of 
our  best  efforts  for  relief,  than  a  country  gentleman  like  your- 
self, we'll  say — of  a  nominal  ^^5000  a  year — compelled  to  keep 
up  an  establishment,  pay  for  his  fox-hounds,  support  the  whole 
population  by  contributions  to  the  poor-rates,  support  the 
whole  church  by  tithes;  all  justice,  jails,  and  prosecutions  by 
the  county  rates  ;  all  thoroughfares  by  the  highway  rates  ; 
ground  down  by  mortgages,  Jews,  or  jointures  ;  having  to 
provide  for  younger  children  ;  enormous  expenses  for  cutting 
his  woods,  manuring  his  model  farm,  and  fattening  huge  oxen 
till  every  pound  of  flesh  costs  him  five  pounds  sterling  in  oil- 
cake ;  and  then  the  lawsuits  necessary  to  protect  his  rights  ; 

*  "  We  talked  sad  rubbish  when  we  first  began,"  says  Mr.  Cobden  in  one  of  hisspeechts. 


44  THE   CAXTONS. 

plundered  on  all  hands  by  poachers,  sheep- stealers,  dog-steal- 
ers,  churchwardens,  overseers,  gardeners,  gamekeepers,  and 
that  necessary  rascal,  his  steward.  If  ever  there  was  a  dis- 
tressed fellow-creature  in  the  world,  it  is  a  country  gentleman 
with  a  great  estate." 

My  father  evidently  thought  this  an  exquisite  piece  of  ban- 
ter, for  by  the  corner  of  his  mouth  I  saw  that  he  chuckled  inly. 

Squire  Rollick,  who  had  interrupted  the  speech  by  sundry 
approving  exclamations,  particulaiiy  at  the  mention  of  poor- 
rates,  tithes,  county  rates,  mortgages,  and  poachers,  here 
pushed  the  bottle  to  Uncle  Jack,  and  said  civilly  :  "  There's  a 
great  deal  of  truth  in  what  you  say,  Mr.  Tibbets.  The  agri- 
cultural interest  is  going  to  ruin  ;  and  when  it  does,  I  would 
not  give  that  for  Old  England  !  "  and  Mr.  Rollick  snapped  his 
finger  and  thumb.  *'  But  what  is  to  be  done — done  for  the 
county  ?     There's  the  rub." 

"  I  was  just  coming  to  that,"  quoth  Uncle  Jack.  "  You  say 
that  you  have  not  a  county  paper  that  upholds  your  cause,  and 
denounces  your  enemies." 

"  Not  since  the  Whigs  bought  the shire  Mercury." 

"  Why,  good  Heavens !  Mr.  Rollick,  how  can  you  suppose 
that  you  will  have  justice  done  you,  if  at  this  time  of  day  you 
neglect  the  press  ?  The  press,  sir — there  it  is — air  we  breathe  ! 
What  you  want  is  a  great  national — no,  not  a  national — a 
PROVINCIAL  proprietary  weekly  journal,  supported  liberally 
and  steadily  by  that  mighty  party  whose  very  existence  is  at 
stake.  Without  such  a  paper,  )'^ou  are  gone,  you  are  dead, 
extinct,  defunct,  buried  alive  ;  with  such  a  paper,  well  con- 
ducted, well  edited  by  a  man  of  the  world,  of  education,  of 
practical  experience  in  agriculture  and  human  nature,  mines, 
corn,  manure,  insurances,  acts  of  Parliament,  cattle-shows,  the 
state  of  parties,  and  the  best  interests  of  society — with  such  a 
man  and  such  a  paper,  you  will  carry  all  before  you.  But  it 
must  be  done  by  subscription,  by  association,  by  co-operation, 
by  a  Grand  Provincial  Benevolent  Agricultural  Anti-innovat- 
ing  Society." 

"  Egad,  sir,  you  are  right !"  said  Mr.  Rollick,  slapping  his 
thigh  ;  "and  I'll  ride  over  to  our  Lord-Lieutenant  to-morrow. 
His  eldest  son  ought  to  carry  the  county." 

"  And  he  will,  if  you  encourage  the  press  and  set  up  a 
journal,"  said  Uncle  Jack,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  then  gently 
stretching  them  out,  and  drawing  them  gradually  together,  as 
if  he  were  already  enclosing  in  that  airy  circle  the  unsuspect- 
ing guineas  of  the  unborn  association. 


The  caxtons.  4S 

All  happiness  dwells  more  in  the  hope  than  the  possess'jn  ; 
and  at  that  moment,  I  dare  be  sworn  that  Uncle  Jack  felt  a 
livelier  rapture,  circum  prcecordta,  warming  his  entrails,  and 
diffusing  throughout  his  whole  frame  of  five  feet  eight  the 
prophetic  glow  of  the  Magna  Diva  Moneta,  than  if  he  had 
enjoyed  for  ten  years  the  actual  possession  of  King  Croesus's 
privy  purse. 

"  I  thought  Uncle  Jack  was  not  a  Tory,"  said  I  to  my  father 
the  next  day. 

My  father,  who  cared  nothing  for  politics,  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Are  you  a  Tory  or  a  Whig,  papa  ?  " 

"  Um,"  said  my  father — "  there's  a  great  deal  to  be  said  on 
both  sides  of  the  question.  You  see,  my  boy,  that  Mrs.  Prim- 
mins  has  a  great  many  moulds  for  our  butter-pats  ;  sometimes 
they  come  up  with  a  crown  on  them,  sometimes  with  the  more 
popular  impress  of  a  cow.  It  is  all  very  well  for  those  who  dish 
up  the  butter  to  print  it  according  to  their  taste,  or  in  proof  of 
their  abilities  ;  it  is  enough  for  us  to  butter  our  bread,  say 
grace,  and  pay  for  the  dairy.     Do  you  understand  1 " 

"  Not  a  bit,  sir." 

"  Your  namesake  Pisistratus  was  wiser  than  you,  then,"  said 
my  father.  "  And  now  let  us  feed  the  duck.  Where's  your 
uncle  ? " 

**  He  has  borrowed  Mr,  Squills's  mare,  sir,  and  gone  with 
Squire  Rollick  to  the  great  lord  they  were  talking  of." 

"  Oho  !  "  said  my  father,  "  Brother  Jack  is  going  to  print  his 
butter  !  " 

And  indeed  Uncle  Jack  played  his  cards  so  well  on  this 
occasion,  and  set  before  the  Lord-Lieutenant,  with  whom  he 
had  a  personal  interview,  so  fine  a  prospectus,  and  so  nice  a 
calculation,  that  before  my  holidays  were  over,  he  was  installed 
in  a  very  handsome  ofifice  in  the  county  town,  with  private 
apartments  over  it,  and  a  salary  of  ;!^5oo  a  year — for  advocat- 
ing the  cause  of  his  distressed  fellow-creatures,  including 
noblemen,  squires,  yeomanry,  farmers,  and  all  yearly  sub- 
scribers in  the  New  Proprietary  Agricultural  Anti-inno- 

VATiNG SHIRE  WEEKLY  GAZETTE.     At   the  head  of  his 

newspaper  Uncle  Jack  caused  to  be  engraved  a  crown  sup- 
ported by  a  flail  and  a  crook,  with  the  motto  :  "  Pro  rege  et 
grege  ": — And  that  was  the  way  in  which  Uncle  Jack  printed 
his  pats  of  butter. 


46  THE    CAXTONS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

I  SEEMED  to  myself  to  have  made  a  leap  in  life  when  I 
returned  to  school,  I  no  longer  felt  as  a  boy.  Uncle  Jack, 
out  of  his  own  purse,  had  presented  me  with  my  first  pair  of 
Wellington  boots  ;  my  mother  had  been  coaxed  into  allowing 
me  a  small  tail  to  jackets  hitherto  tailless  ;  my  collars,  which 
had  been  wont,  spaniel-like,  to  flap  and  fall  about  my  neck, 
now,  terrier-wise,  stood  erect  and  rampant,  encompassed  with  a 
circumvallation  of  whalebone,  buckram,  and  black  silk.  I  was, 
in  truth,  nearly  seventeen,  and  I  gave  myself  the  airs  of  a  man. 
Now,  be  it  observed,  that  that  crisis  in  adolescent  existence 
wherein  we  first  pass  from  Master  Sisty  into  Mr.  Pisistratus, 
or  Pisistratus  Caxlon,  Esq.;  wherein  we  arrogate,  and  with 
tacit  concession  from  our  elders,  the  long-envied  title  of  "  young 
man  " — always  seems  a  sudden  and  imprompt  upshooting  and 
elevation.  We  do  not  mark  the  gradual  preparations  thereto  ; 
we  remember  only  one  distinct  period  in  which  all  the  signs 
and  symptoms  burst  and  effloresced  together ;  Wellington 
boots,  coat-tail,  cravat,  down  on  the  upper  lip,  thoughts  on 
razors,  reveries  on  young  ladies,  and  a  new  kind  of  sense  of 
poetry. 

I  began  now  to  read  steadily,  to  understand  what  I  did  read, 
and  to  cast  some  anxious  looks  towards  the  future,  with  vague 
notions  that  I  had  a  place  to  win  in  the  world,  and  that  nothing 
is  to  be  won  without  perseverance  and  labor  ;  and  so  I  went 
on  till  I  was  seventeen,  and  at  the  head  of  the  school,  when  I 
received  the  two  letters  I  subjoin. 

i. — from  augustine  caxton,  esq. 

"  My  dear  Son  : 

"  I  have  informed  Dr.  Herman  that  you  will  not  return  to  him 
after  the  approaching  holidays.  You  are  old  enough  now  to 
look  forward  to  the  embraces  of  our  beloved  Alma  Mater, 
and  I  think  studious  enough  to  hope  for  the  honors  she  bestows 
on  her  worthier  sons.  You  are  already  entered  at  Trinity, — 
and  in  fancy  I  see  my  youth  return  to  me  in  your  image. 
I  see  you  wandering  where  the  Cam  steals  its  way  through 
those  noble  gardens ;  and,  confusing  you  with  myself,  I  recall 
the  old  dreams  that  haunted  me  when  the  chiming  bells  swung 
over  the  placid  waters.  *  Verum  .secretumque  ttiouseion,  quam 
multa  dictatis,  quam  multa  invenitis  ! '  There  at  that  illustri- 
ous college,  unless  the  race  has  indeed  degenerated,  you  will 


THE   CAXtONS.  47 

ftteasufe  yourself  with  young  giants.  You  will  see  those  who, 
in  the  Law,  tlie  Church,  the  State,  or  the  still  cloisters  of 
Learning,  are  destined  to  become  the  eminent  leaders  of  your 
age.  To  rank  among  them  you  are  not  forbidden  to  aspire  ; 
he  who  in  youth  '  can  scorn  delight,  and  love  laborious  days,' 
should  pitch  high  his  ambition. 

"  Your  Uncle  Jack  says  he  has  done  wonders  with  his  news- 
paper— though  Mr.  Rollick  grumbles,  and  declares  that  it  is 
full  of  theories,  and  that  it  puzzles  the  farmers.  Uncle  Jack, 
in  reply,  contends  that  he  creates  an  audience,  not  addresses 
one,  and  sighs  that  his  genius  is  thrown  away  in  a  provincial 
town.  In  fact,  he  really  is  a  very  clever  man,  and  might  do 
much  in  London,  I  dare  say.  He  often  comes  over  to  dine 
and  sleep,  returning  the  next  morning.  His  energy  is  wonder- 
ful, and  contagious.  Can  you  imagine  that  he  has  actually 
stirred  up  the  flame  of  my  vanity,  by  constantly  poking  at  the 
bars?  Metaphor  apart — I  find  myself  collecting  all  my  notes 
and  commonplaces,  and  wondering  to  see  how  easily  they  fall 
into  method,  and  take  shape  in  chapters  and  books.  I  cannot 
help  smiling  when  I  add,  that  I  fancy  I  am  going  to  become 
an  author  ;  and  smiling  more  when  I  think  that  your  Uncle 
Jack  should  have  provoked  me  into  so  egregious  an  ambition. 
However,  I  have  read  some  passages  of  my  book  to  your 
mother,  and  she  says, '  it  is  vastly  fine,'  which  is  encouraging. 
Your  mother  has  great  good  sense,  though  I  don't  mean  to 
say  that  she  has  much  learning — which  is  a  wonder,  consider- 
ing that  Pic  de  la  Mirandola  was  nothing  to  her  father.  Yet 
he  died,  dear  great  man,  and  never  printed  a  line,  while  I  — 
positively  I  blush  to  think  of  my  temerity  ! 

"  Adieu,  my  son  ;  make  the  best  of  the  time  that  remains 
with  you  at  the  Philhellenic.  A  full  mind  is  the  true  Pantheism, 
plena  Jmns.  It  is  only  in  some  corner  of  the  brain  which  we 
leave  empty  that  Vice  can  obtain  a  lodging.  When  she  knocks 
at  your  door,  my  son,  be  able  to  say  :  '  No  room  for  your  lady- 
ship— pass  on.*     Your  affectionate  father, 

"A.  Caxton." 

11. — from  mrs.  caxton. 

"  My  dearest  Sisty  : 

"  You  are  coming  home  !  My  heart  is  so  full  of  that  thought 
that  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  could  not  write  anything  else. 
Dear  child,  you  are  coming  home  ;  you  have  done  with  school, 
you  have  done  with  strangers,  you  are  our  own,  all  our  own 
son  again  !     You  are  mine  again,  as  you  were  in  the  cradle, 


48  THE   CAXTONS. 

the  nursery,  and  the  garden,  Sisty,  when  we  used  to  throw 
daisies  at  each  other  !  You  will  laugh  at  me  so,  when  1  tell 
you,  that  as  soon  as  I  heard  you  were  coming  home  for  good, 
I  crept  away  from  the  room,  and  went  to  my  drawer  where  I 
keep,  you  know,  all  my  treasures.  There  was  your  little  cap 
that  I  worked  myself,  and  your  poor  little  nankeen  jacket  that 
you  were  so  proud  to  throw  off — oh  !  and  many  other  relics  of 
you  when  you  were  little  Sisty,  and  I  was  not  the  cold,  formal 
*  Mother '  you  call  me  now,  but  dear  *  Mamma.'  I  kissed  them, 
Sisty,  and  said,  '  My  little  child  is  coming  back  to  me  again '  ! 
So  foolish  was  I,  I  forgot  all  the  long  years  that  have  passed, 
and  fancied  I  could  carry  you  again  in  my  arms,  and  that  I 
should  again  coax  you  to  say  '  God  bless  papa.'  Well,  well! 
I  write  now  between  laughing  and  crying.  You  cannot  be 
what  you  were,  but  you  are  still  my  own  dear  son — your 
father's  son — dearer  to  me  than  all  the  world — except  that 
father. 

"  I  am  so  glad,  too,  that  you  will  come  so  soon  ;  come  while 
your  father  is  really  warm  with  his  book,  and  while  you  can 
encourage  and  keep  him  to  it.  For  why  should  he  not  be 
great  and  famous  ?  Why  should  not  all  admire  him  as  we  do  ? 
You  know  how  proud  of  him  I  always  was  ;  but  I  do  so  long 
to  let  the  world  know  why  I  was  so  proud.  And  yet,  after  all, 
it  is  not  only  because  he  is  so  wise  and  learned,  but  because  he 
is  so  good,  and  has  such  a  large,  noble  heart.  But  the  heart 
must  appear  in  the  book,  too,  as  well  as  the  learning.  For 
though  it  is  full  of  things  I  don't  understand — every  now  and 
then  there  is  something  I  do  understand — that  seems  as  if  that 
heart  spoke  out  to  all  the  world. 

"  Your  uncle  has  undertaken  to  get  it  published  ;  and  your 
father  is  going  up  to  town  with  him  about  it,  as  soon  as  the 
first  volume  is  finished. 

"  All  are  quite  well  except  poor  Mrs.  Jones,  who  has  the 
ague  very  bad  indeed  ;  Primmins  has  made  her  wear  a  charm 
for  it,  and  Mrs.  Jones  actually  declares  she  is  already  much 
better.  One  can't  deny  that  there  may  be  a  great  deal  in  such 
things,  though  it  seems  quite  against  the  reason.  Indeed  your 
father  says,  '  Why  not  ?  A  charm  must  be  accompanied  by  a 
strong  wish  on  the  part  of  the  charmer  that  it  may  succeed — 
and  what  is  magnetism  but  a  wish  ? '  I  don't  quite  compre- 
hend this  ;  but,  like  all  your  father  says,  it  has  more  than 
meets  the  eye,  I  am  quite  sure. 

"  Only  three  weeks  to  the  holidays,  and  then  no  more  school, 
Sisty — no  more  school  !     I   shall  have  your  room  all   done 


THE   CAXTONS.  49 

freshly,  and  made  so  pretty  ;  they  are  coming  about  it  to- 
morrow. 

"  The  duck  is  quite  well,  and  I  really  don't  think  it  is  quite 
as  lame  as  it  was. 

"  God  bless  you,  dear,  dear  child  !  Your  affectionate  happy 
mother.  K.  C." 

The  interval  between  these  letters  and  the  morning  on  which 
I  was  to  return  home  seemed  to  me  like  one  of  those  long, 
restless,  yet  half-dreamy  days  which  in  some  infant  malady  I  had 
passed  in  a  sick-bed.  I  went  through  my  taskwork  mechan- 
ically, composed  a  Greek  ode  in  farewell  to  the  Philhellenic, 
which  Dr.  Herman  pronounced  a  chef  d'auvre,  and  my  father, 
to  whom  I  sent  it  in  triumph,  returned  a  letter  of  false  En- 
glish with  it,  that  parodied  all  my  Hellenic  barbarisms  by  imi- 
tating them  in  my  mother  tongue.  However,  I  swallowed  the 
leek,  and  consoled  myself  with  the  pleasing  recollection  that, 
after  spending  six  years  in  learning  to  write  bad  Greek,  I 
should  never  have  any  further  occasion  to  avail  myself  of  so 
precious  an  accomplishment. 

And  so  came  the  last  day.  Then  alorie,  and  in  a  kind  of 
delighted  melancholy,  I  revisited  each  of  the  old  haunts.  The 
robber's  cave  we  had  dug  one  winter,  and  maintained,  six  of 
us,  against  all  the  police  of  the  little  kingdom.  The  place 
near  the  pales  where  I  had  fought  my  first  battle.  The  old 
beech  stump  on  which  I  sate  to  read  letters  from  home  ! 
With  my  knife,  rich  in  six  blades  (besides  a  corkscrew,  a  pen- 
picker,  and  a  button-hook),  I  carved  my  name  in  large  capi- 
tals over  my  desk.  Then  night  came,  and  the  bell  rang,  and 
we  went  to  our  rooms.  And  I  opened  the  window  and  looked 
out.  I  saw  all  the  stars,  and  wondered  which  was  mine — 
which  should  light  to  fame  and  fortune  the  manhood  about  to 
commence.  Hope  and  Ambition  were  high  within  me  ;  and 
yet,  behind  them  stood  Melancholy.  Ah  !  who  amongst  you, 
readers,  can  now  summon  back  all  those  thoughts,  sweet  and 
sad  ;  all  that  untold,  half-conscious  regret  for  the  past  ;  all 
those  vague  longings  for  the  future,  which  made  a  poet  of  the 
dullest  on  the  last  night  before  leaving  boyhood  and  school 
forever  ! 


56  THfi  CAXTONS. 

PART    THIRD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

It  was  a  beautiful  summer  afternoon  when  the  coach  set  me 
down  at  my  father's  gate.  Mrs.  Primmins  herself  ran  out  to 
welcome  me  :  and  I  had  scarcely  escaped  from  the  warm 
clasp  of  her  friendly  hand,  before  I  was  in  the  arms  of  my 
mother. 

As  soon  as  that  tenderest  of  parents  was  convinced  that  I 
was  not  famished,  seeing  that  I  had  dined  two  hours  ago  at 
Dr.  Herman's,  she  led  me  gently  across  the  garden  towards 
the  arbor.  "  You  will  find  your  father  so  cheerful,"  said  she, 
wiping  away  a  tear.     "  His  brother  is  with  him." 

I  stopped.  His  brother  !  Will  the  reader  believe  it  ?  I 
had  never  heard  that  he  had  a  brother,  so  little  were  family 
affairs  ever  discussed  in  my  hearing. 

"  His  brother  !  "  said  I.  "  Have  I  then  an  Uncle  Caxton  as 
well  as  an  Uncle  Jack  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  love,"  said  my  mother.  And  then  she  added  : 
*'  Your  father  and  he  were  not  such  good  friends  as  they  ought 
to  have  been,  and  the  Captain  has  been  abroad.  However, 
thank  Heaven  !  they  are  now  quite  reconciled." 

We  had  time  for  no  more — we  were  in  the  arbor.  There,  a 
table  was  spread  with  wine  and  fruit — the  gentlemen  were  at 
their  dessert  ;  and  those  gentlemen  were  my  father,  Uncle 
Jack,  Mr.  Squills,  and — tall,  lean,  buttoned-to-the-chin — an 
erect,  martial,  majestic,  and  imposing  personage,  who  seemed 
worthy  of  a  place  in  my  great  ancestor's  "  Boke  of  Chivalrie." 

All  rose  as  I  entered  ;  but  my  poor  father,  who  was  always 
slow  in  his  movements,  had  the  last  of  me.  Uncle  Jack  had 
left  the  very  powerful  impression  of  his  great  seal-ring  on  my 
fingers  ;  Mr.  Squills  had  patted  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  pro- 
nounced me '"  wonderfully  grown  ";  my  new-found  relative 
had  with  great  dignity  said  :  "Nephew,  your  hand,  sir — I  am 
Captain  de  Caxton  ";  and  even  the  tame  duck  had  taken 
her  beak  from  her  wing,  and  rubbed  it  gently  between  my 
legs,  which  was  her  usual  mode  of  salutation,  before  my  father 
placed  his  pale  hand  on  my  forehead,  and  looking  at  me  for 
a  moment  with  unutterable  sweetness,  said :  "  More  and 
more  like  your  mother — God  bless  you  !  " 


THE   CAXTONS.  5I 

A  chair  had  been  kept  vacant  for  me  between  my  father  and 
his  brother.  1  sat  down  in  haste,  and  with  a  tingling  color  on 
my  cheeks  and  a  rising  at  my  throat,  so  much  had  the  unusual 
kindness  of  my  father's  greeting  affected  me  ;  and  then  there 
came  over  me  a  sense  of  my  new  position.  1  was  no  longer  a 
schoolboy  at  home  for  his  brief  holiday  :  I  had  returned 
to  the  shelter  of  the  roof-tree  to  become  myself  one  of  its 
supports.  I  was  at  last  a  man,  privileged  to  aid  or  solace 
those  dear  ones  who  had  ministered,  as  yet  without  return,  to 
me.  That  is  a  very  strange  crisis  in  our  life  when  we  come 
home  '■'■  for  goody  Home  seems  a  different  thing  ;  before  one 
has  been  but  a  sort  of  guest  after  all,  only  welcomed  and 
indulged,  and  little  festivities  held  in  honor  of  the  released 
and  happy  child.  But  to  come  homey<9r  good — to  have  done 
with  school  and  boyhood — is  to  be  a  guest,  a  child  no  more. 
It  is  to  share  the  everyday  life  of  cares  and  duties  ;  it  is  to 
enter  into  the  confidences  of  home.  Is  it  not  so  ?  I  could  have 
buried  my  face  in  my  hands,  and  wept ! 

My  father,  with  all  his  abstraction  and  all  his  simplicity,  had 
a  knack  now  and  then  of  penetrating  at  once  to  the  heart.  I 
verily  believe  he  read  all  that  was  passing  in  mine  3-s  easily  as 
if  it  had  been  Greek.  He  stole  his  arm  gently  rounr*  iiy  waist 
and  whispered  :  "  Hush  !  "  Then  lifting  his  voice,  Cc  cried 
aloud  :  "  Brother  Roland,  you  must  not  let  Jack  have  the  best 
of  the  argument." 

"  Brother  Austin,"  replied  the  Captain,  very  formall)'',  "  Mr. 
Jack,  if  I  may  take  the  liberty  so  to  call  him — " 

"  You  may  indeed,"  cried  Uncle  Jack. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  Captain,  bowing,  "  it  is  a  familiarity  that 
does  me  honor.  I  was  about  to  .say  that  Mr.  Jack  has  retired 
from  the  field." 

"Far  from  it,"  said  Squills,  dropping  an  effervescing  powder 
into  a  chemical  mixture  which  he  had  been  preparing  with 
great  attention,  composed  of  sherry  and  lemon-juice — "  far 
from  it.  Mr.  Tibbets — whose  organ  of  combativeness  is  finely 
developed,  by  the  by — was  saying — " 

"  That  it  is  a  rank  sin  and  shame  in  the  nineteenth  century," 
quoth  Uncle  Jack,  "that  a  man  like  my  friend  Captain 
Caxton — " 

"  De  Caxton,  sir — Mr.  Jack." 

"  De  Caxton — of  the  highest  military  talents,  of  the  most 
illustrious  descent — a  hero  sprung  from  heroes — should  have 
served  so  many  years,  and  with  such  distinction,  in  his  Majes- 
ty's service,  and  should   now  be  only  a  captain  on  half-pay. 


52  THE    CAXTONS. 

This,  I  say,  comes  of  the  infamous  system  of  purchase,  which 
sets  up  the  highest  honors  for  sale  as  they  did  in  the  Roman 
empire — " 

My  father  pricked  up  his  ears  ;  but  Uncle  Jack  pushed  on 
before  my  father  could  get  ready  the  forces  of  his  meditated 
interruption. 

"A  system  which  a  little  effort,  a  little  union,  can  so  easily 
terminate.  Yes,  sir," — and  Uncle  Jack  thumped  the  table, 
and  two  cherries  bobbed  up  and  smote  Captain  de  Caxton  on 
the  nose — "  yes,  sir,  I  will  undertake  to  say  that  I  could  put 
the  army  upon  a  very  different  footing.  If  the  poorer  and 
more  meritorious  gentlemen,  like  Captain  de  Caxton,  would, 
as  I  was  just  observing,  but  unite  in  a  grand  anti-aristocratic 
association,  each  paying  a  small  sum  quarterly,  we  could  realize 
a  capital  sufficient  to  outpurchase  all  these  undeserving  indi- 
viduals, and  every  man  of  merit  should  have  his  fair  chance  of 
promotion." 

**  Egad,  sir,"  said  Squills,  "  there  is  something  grand  in 
that — eh,  Captain  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  Captain  quite  seriously  ;  "there  is  in 
monarchies  but  one  fountain  of  honor.  It  would  be  an  inter- 
ference with  a  soldier's  first  duty,  his  respect  for  his  sovereign." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Mr.  Squills,  "  it  would  still  be  to 
the  sovereigns  that  one  would  owe  the  promotion." 

"  Honor,"  pursued  the  Captain,  coloring  up,  and  unheeding 
this  witty  interruption,  "  is  the  reward  of  a  soldier.  What  do 
I  care  that  a  young  jackanapes  buys  his  colonelcy  over  my 
head  ?  Sir,  he  does  not  buy  from  me  my  wounds  and  my 
services.  Sir,  he  does  not  buy  from  me  the  medal  I  won  at 
Waterloo.  He  is  a  rich  man,  and  I  am  a  poor  man  ;  he  is 
called  colonel,  because  he  paid  money  for  the  name.  That 
pleases  him  ;  well  and  good.  It  would  not  please  me  :  I  had 
rather  remain  a  captain,  and  feel  my  dignity,  not  in  my  title, 
but  in  the  services  by  which  it  has  been  won.  A  beggarly, 
rascally  association  of  stockbrokers,  for  aught  I  know,  buy  /'/<? 
a  company  !  I  don't  want  to  be  uncivil,  or  I  would  say  damn 
'em,  Mr. — sir — Jack  ! " 

A  sort  of  thrill  ran  through  the  Captain's  audience  ;  even 
Uncle  Jack  seemed  touched,  for  he  stared  very  hard  at  the 
grim  veteran,  and  said  nothing.  The  pause  was  awkward  ; 
Mr.  Squills  broke  it.  "  I  should  like,"  quoth  he,  "to  see  your 
Waterloo  medal — you  have  it  not  about  you  ? " 

"  Mr.  Squills,"  answered  the  Captain,  "  it  lies  next  to  my 
heart  while  I  live.     It  shall  be  buried  in  my  coffin,  and  I  shall 


THE   CAXTONS,  53 

rise  with  it,  at  the  V/Ord  of  command,  on  the  day  of  the  Grand 
Review  !  "  So  saying,  the  Captain  leisurely  unbuttoned  his 
coat,  and,  detaching  from  a  piece  of  striped  ribbon  as  ugly  a 
specimen  of  the  art  of  che  silversmith  (begging  its  pardon)  as 
ever  rewarded  merit  at  the  expense  of  taste,  placed  the  medal 
on  the  table. 

The  medal  passed  round,  without  a  word,  from  hand  to 
hand. 

"  It  is  strange,"  at  last  said  my  father,  "  how  such  trifles 
can  be  made  of  such  value — how  in  one  age  a  man  sells  his 
life  for  what  in  the  next  age  he  would  not  give  a  button  !  A 
Greek  esteemed  beyond  price  a  few  leaves  of  olive  twisted 
into  a  circular  shape,  and  set  upon  his  head — a  very  ridiculous 
headgear  we  should  now  call  it.  An  American  Indian  prefers 
a  decoration  of  human  scalps,  which,  I  apprehend,  we  should 
all  agree  (save  and  except  Mr.  Squills,  who  is  accustomed  to 
such  things)  to  be  a  very  disgusting  addition  to  one's  personal 
attractions  ;  and  my  brother  values  this  piece  of  silver,  which 
may  be  worth  about  five  shillings,  more  than  Jack  does  a  gold 
mine,  or  I  do  the  library  of  the  London  Museum.  A  time 
will  come  when  people  will  think  that  as  idle  a  decoration  as 
leaves  and  scalps." 

"  Brother,"  said  the  Captain,  "  there  is  nothing  strange  in 
the  matter.  It  is  as  plain  as  a  pike-staff  to  a  man  who  under- 
stands the  principles  of  honor." 

"  Possibly,"  said  my  father  mildly.  "  I  should  like  to  hear 
what  you  have  to  say  upon  honor.  I  am  sure  it  would  very 
much  edify  us  all." 

CHAPTER  II. 
MY  UNCLE  Roland's  discourse  upon  honor. 

"Gentlemen,"  began  the  Captain,  at  the  distinct  appeal  thus 
made  to  him  ;  "  Gentlemen,  God  made  the  earth,  but  man 
made  the  garden.  God  made  man,  but  man  re-creates  him- 
self." 

"  True,  by  knowledge,"  said  my  father. 

"  By  industry,"  said  Uncle  Jack. 

"  By  the  physical  conditions  of  his  body,"  said  Mr.  Squills. 
"  He  could  not  have  made  himself  other  than  he  was  at  first 
in  the  woods  and  wilds  if  he  had  fins  like  a  fish,  or  could  only 
chatter  gibberish  like  a  monkey.  Hands  and  a  tongue,  sir ; 
these  are  the  instruments  of  progress." 


54  THE   CAXTONS. 

"  Mr.  Squills,"  said  my  father,  nodding,  "  Anaxagoras  said 
very  much  the  same  thing  before  you,  touching  the  hands." 

"  I  can't  help  that,"  answered  Mr.  Squills  ;  "one  could  not 
open  one's  lips,  if  one  were  bound  to  say  what  nobody  else 
had  said.  But,  after  all,  our  superiority  is  less  in  our  hands 
than  the  greatness  of  our  thumbs^ 

"  Albinus,  de  Sceleto,  and  our  own  learned  William  Law- 
rence, have  made  a  similar  remark,"  again  put  in  my  father. 

"  Hang  it,  sir  !  "  exclaimed  Squills,  "  what  business  have  you 
to  know  everything?" 

"Everything!  No;  but  thumbs  furnish  subjects  of  in- 
vestigation to  the  simplest  understanding,"  said  my  father 
modestly. 

"Gentlemen,"  recommenced  my  Uncle  Roland,  "thumbs 
and  hands  are  given  to  an  Esquimaux,  as  well  as  to  scholars 
and  surgeons — and  what  the  deuce  are  they  the  wiser  for 
them  ?  Sirs,  you  cannot  reduce  us  thus  into  mechanism. 
Look  within.  Man,  I  say,  recreates  himself.  How  ?  By  the 
PRINCIPLE  OF  HONOR.  His  first  desire  is  to  excel  some  one 
else  ;  his  first  impulse  is  distinction  above  his  fellows.  Heaven 
places  in  his  sou!,  as  if  it  were  a  compass,  a  needle  that  always 
points  to  one  end,  viz.,  to  honor  in  that  which  those  around 
him  consider  honorable.  Therefore,  as  man  at  first  is  ex- 
posed to  all  dangers  from  wild  beasts,  and  from  men  as 
savage  as  himself.  Courage  becomes  the  first  quality  mankind 
must  honor  :  therefore  the  savage  is  courageous ;  therefore 
he  covets  the  praise  for  courage  ;  therefore  he  decorates  him- 
self with  the  skins  of  the  beasts  he  has  subdued,  or  the  scalps 
of  the  foes  he  has  slain.  Sirs,  don't  tell  me  that  the  skins  and 
the  scalps  are  only  hide  and  leather  ;  they  are  trophies  of  honor. 
Don't  tell  me  that  they  are  ridiculous  and  disgusting ;  they 
become  glorious  as  proofs  that  the  savage  has  emerged  out  of 
the  first  brute-like  egotism,  and  attached  price  to  the  praise 
which  men  never  give  except  for  works  that  secure  or  advance 
their  welfare.  By  and  by,  sirs,  our  savages  discover  that  they 
cannot  live  in  safety  amongst  themselves  unless  they  agree  to 
speak  the  truth  to  each  other  :  therefore  Truth  becomes 
valued,  and  grows  into  a  principle  of  honor ;  so.  Brother 
Austin  will  tell  us  that,  in  the  primitive  times,  truth  was  always 
the  attribute  of  a  hero." 

"  Right,"  said  my  father  :  "  Homer  emphatically  assigns  it 
to  Achilles." 

"  Out  of  truth  comes  the  necessity  for  some  kind  of  rude 
justice  and  law.    Therefore  men,  after  courage  in  the  warripr, 


THE   CAXTONS.  55 

and  truth  in  all,  begin  to  attach  honor  to  the  elder,  whom  they 
intrust  with  preserving  justice  amongst  them.  So,  sirs,  Law 
is  born — " 

"  But  the  first  lawgivers  were  priests,"  quoth  my  father. 

"Sirs,  I  am  coming  to  that.  Whence  arises  the  desire  of 
honor,  but  from  man's  necessity  of  excelling — in  other  words, 
of  in>i)roving  his  faculties  for  the  benefit  of  others,  though, 
unconscious  of  that  consequence,  man  only  strives  for  their 
praise  ?  But  that  desire  for  honor  is  unextinguishable,  and 
man  is  naturally  anxious  to  carry  its  rewards  beyond  the  grave. 
Therefore,  he  who  has  slain  most-lions  or  enemies  is  naturally 
prone  to  believe  that  he  shall  have  the  best  hunting  fields  in  the 
country  beyond,  and  take  the  best  place  at  the  banquet. 
Nature,  in  all  its  operations,  impresses  man  with  the  idea  of  an 
invisible  Power  ;  and  the  principle  of  honor — that  is,  the  desire 
of  praise  and  reward — makes  him  anxious  for  the  approval 
which  that  Power  can  bestow.  Thence  comes  the  first  rude 
idea  of  Religion  ;  and  in  the  death-hymn  at  the  .stake,  the 
savage  chants  songs  prophetic  of  the  distinctions  he  is  about 
to  receive.  Society  goes  on  ;  hamlets  are  built  ;  property  is 
established.  He  who  has  more  than  another  has  more  power 
than  another.  Power  is  honored.  Man  covets  the  honor  at- 
tached to  the  power  which  is  attached  to  possession.  Thus 
the  soil  is  cultivated  ;  thus  the  rafts  are  constructed  ;  thus 
tribe  trades  with  tribe ;  thus  Commerce  is  founded,  and 
Civilization  commenced.  Sirs,  all  that  seems  least  con- 
nected with  honor,  as  we  approach  the  vulgar  days  of  the 
present,  has  its  origin  in  honor,  and  is  but  an  abuse  of  its 
principles.  If  men  nowadays  are  hucksters  and  traders — if 
even  military  honors  are  purchased,  and  a  rogue  buys  his  way 
to  a  peerage — still  all  arise  from  the  desire  for  honor  which 
society,  as  it  grows  old,  gives  to  the  outward  signs  of  titles 
and  gold,  instead  of,  as  once,  to  its  inward  essentiaks,  courage, 
truth,  justice,  enterprise.  Therefore,  I  say,  sirs,  that  honor  is 
the  foundation  of  all  improvement  in  mankind." 

"  You  have  argued  like  a  schoolman,  brother,"  said  Mr. 
Caxton  admiringly  ;  "but  still,  as  to  this  round  piece  of  silver, 
don't  we  go  back  to  the  mo.st  barbarous  ages  in  estimating 
so  highly  such  things  as  have  no  real  value  in  themselves — as 
could  not  give  us  one  opportunity  for  instructing  our  minds  ? 

"  Could  not  pay  for  a  pair  of  boots,"  added  Uncle  Jack. 

"  Or,"  said  Mr.  Squills,  "save  you  one  twinge  of  the  cursed 
rheumatism  you  have  got  for  life  from  that  night's  bivouac  in 
the  Portuguese  marshes — to  say  nothing  of  the  bullet  in  your 


56  THE   CAX70NS. 

cranium,  and  that  cork  leg,  which  must  much  diminish  the 
salutary  effects  of  your  constitutional  walk." 

"  Gentlemen,"  resumed  the  Captain,  nothing  abashed,  '*  in 
going  back  to  those  barbarous  ages,  I  go  back  to  the  true 
principles  of  honor.  It  is  precisely  because  this  round  piece 
of  silver  has  no  value  in  the  market  that  it  is  priceless,  for 
thus  it  is  only  a  proof  of  desert.  Where  would  be  the  sense  of 
service  in  this  medal,  if  it  could  buy  back  my  leg,  or  if  I  could 
bargain  it  away  for  forty  thousand  a  year?  No,  sirs,  its  value 
is  this  :  that  when  I  wear  it  on  my  breast,  men  shall  say,  *  That 
formal  old  fellow  is  not  so  useless  as  he  seems.  He  was  one 
of  those  who  saved  England  and  freed  Europe.'  And  even 
when  I  conceal  it  here  (and,  devoutly  kissing  the  medal, 
Uncle  Roland  restored  it  to  its  ribbon  and  its  resting-place), 
and  no  eye  sees  it,  its  value  is  yet  greater  in  the  thought  that 
my  country  has  not  degraded  the  old  and  true  principles  of 
honor,  by  paying  the  soldier  who  fought  for  her  in  the  same 
coin  as  that  in  which  you,  Mr.  Jack,  sir,  pay  your  bootmaker's 
bill.  No,  no,  gentlemen.  As  courage  was  the  first  virtue  that 
honor  called  forth — the  first  virtue  from  which  all  safety  and 
civilization  proceed,  so  we  do  right  to  keep  that  one  virtue  at 
least  clear  and  unsullied  from  all  the  money-making,  merce- 
nary, pay-me-in-cash  abomination,  which  are  the  vices,  not  the 
virtues,  of  the  civilization  it  has  produced." 

My  Uncle  Roland  here  came  to  a  full  stop  ;  and,  filling 
his  glass,  rose  and  said  solemnly:  "A  last  bumper,  gentle- 
men— *  To  the  dead  who  died  for  England.'  " 


CHAPTER  in. 

"Indeed,  my  dear,  you  must  take  it.  You  certainly /^dfZ'^ 
caught  cold  :  you  sneezed  three  times  together." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  because  I  would  take  a  pinch  of  Uncle 
Roland's  snuff,  just  to  say  that  I  had  taken  a  pinch  out  of  his 
box — the  honor  of  the  thing,  you  know." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  !  what  was  that  very  clever  remark  you  made 
at  the  same  time,  which  so  pleased  your  father — something 
about  Jews  and  the  college  ?  " 

"  Jews  and — oh  !  '■  pulverem  Olympicum  collegisse  juvat^  my 
dear  mother — which  means,  that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  take  a 
pinch  out  of  a  brave  man's  snuff-box.  I  say,  mother,  put 
down  the  posset.  Yes,  I'll  take  it ;  I  will,  indeed.  Now, 
then,  sit  here — that's  right — and  tell  me  all  you  know  about 


THE  CAXTONS.  57 

this  famous  oid  Captain.  Imprimis,  he  is  older  than  my 
father  ? " 

"To  be  sure!"  exclaimed  my  mother  indignantly;  "he 
looks  twenty  years  older  ;  but  there  is  only  five  years'  real 
difference.     Your  father  must  always  look  young." 

"  And  why  does  Uncle  Roland  put  that  absurd  French  de 
before  his  name — and  why  were  my  father  and  he  not  good 
friends — and  is  he  married — and  has  he  any  children  ?  " 

Scene  of  this  conference — my  own  little  room,  new  papered 
on  purpose  for  my  return  for  good — trellis-work  paper,  flowers 
and  birds — all  so  fresh,  and  so  new,  and  so  clean,  and  so  gay — 
with  my  books  ranged  in  neat  shelves,  and  a  writing-table  by 
the  window  ;  and,  without  the  window,  shines  the  still  summer 
moon.  The  window  is  a  little  open  ;  you  scent  the  flowers  and 
the  new-mown  hay.  Past  eleven  ;  and  the  boy  and  his  dear 
mother  are  all  alone. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear  !  you  ask  so  many  questions  at  once." 

"  Don't  answer  them,  then.  Begin  at  the  beginning,  as 
Nurse  Primmins  does  with  her  fairy  tales  :  '  Once  on  a  time.'  " 

"Once  on  a  time,  then,"  said  my  mother,  kissing  me  be- 
tween the  eyes — "once  on  a  time,  my  love,  there  was  a  certain 
clergyman  in  Cumberland  who  had  two  sons  ;  he  had  but  a 
small  living,  and  the  boys  were  to  make  their  own  way  in  the 
world.  But  close  to  the  parsonage,  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  rose 
an  old  ruin,  with  one  tower  left,  and  this,  with  half  the  country 
round  it,  had  once  belonged  to  the  clergyman's  family,  but  all 
had  been  sold — all  gone  piece  by  piece,  you  see,  my  dear,  except 
the  presentation  to  the  living  (what  they  call  the  advov.'son 
was  sold  too),  which  had  been  secured  to  the  last  of  the 
family.  The  elder  of  these  sons  was  your  Uncle  Roland,  the 
younger  was  your  father.  Now  I  believe  the  first  quarrel 
arose  from  the  absurdest  thing  possible,  as  your  father  says; 
but  Roland  was  exceedingly  touchy  on  all  things  connected 
with  his  ancestors.  He  was  always  poring  over  the  old  pedi- 
gree, or  wandering  amongst  the  ruins,  or  reading  books  of 
knight-errantry.  Well,  where  this  pedigree  began  I  know  not, 
but  it  seems  that  King  Henry  W.  gave  some  lands  in  Cumber- 
land to  one  Sir  Adam  de  Caxton  ;  and  from  that  time,  you 
see,  the  pedigree  went  regularly  from  father  to  son  till  Henry 
V. ;  then,  apparently  from  the  disorders  produced,  as  your 
father  says,  by  the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  there  was  a  sad  blank 
left — only  one  or  two  names,  without  dates  or  marriages,  till 
the  time  of  Henry  VII.,  except  that,  in  the  reign  of  Edward 
IV.,  there  was  one  insertion  of  a  William  Caxton  (named  in  a 


58  THE   CAXTONS. 

deed).  Now  in  the  village  church  there  was  a  beautiful  brass 
monument,  to  one  Sir  William  de  Caxton,  who  had  been  killed 
at  the  battle  of  Bosworth,  fighting  for  that  wicked  King  Rich- 
ard III.  And  about  the  same  tmie  there  lived,  as  you  know, 
the  great  printer,  William  Caxton.  AVell,  your  father,  happen- 
ing to  be  in  town  on  a  visit  to  his  aunt,  took  great  trouble  in 
liunting  up  all  the  old  papers  he  could  find  at  the  Herald's 
College  ;  and  sure  enough  he  was  overjoyed  to  satisfy  himself 
that  he  was  descended,  not  from  that  poor  Sir  William,  who 
had  been  killed  in  so  bad  a  cause,  but  from  the  great  printer, 
who  was  from  a  younger  branch  of  the  same  family,  and  to 
whose  descendants  the  estate  came,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII. 
It  was  upon  this  that  your  Uncle  Roland  quarrelled  with  him  ; 
and  indeed  I  tremble  to  think  that  they  may  touch  on  that 
matter  again." 

"Then,  my  dear  mother,  I  must  say  my  uncle  was  wrong 
there,  so  far  as  common-sense  is  concerned  ;  but  still,  some- 
how or  other,  I  can  understand  it.  Surely  this  was  not  the 
only  cause  of  estrangement  ?  " 

My  mother  looked  down,  and  moved  one  hand  gently  over 
the  other,  which  was  her  way  when  embarrassed.  "  What  was 
it,  my  own  mother  ?  "  said  I  coaxingly. 

"  I  believe — that  is,  I — I  think  that  they  were  both  attached 
to  the  same  young  lady." 

"  How  !  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  my  father  was  ever  in 
love  with  any  one  but  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sisty — yes,  and  deeply  !  and,"  added  my  mother, 
after  a  slight  pause,  and  with  a  very  low  sigh,  *'  he  never  was 
in  love  with  me  ;  and  what  is  more,  he  had  the  frankness  to 
tell  me  so  !  " 

"  And  yet  you — " 

"  Married  him — yes  !  "  said  my  mother,  raising  the  softest 
and  purest  eyes  that  ever  lover  could  have  wished  to  read  his 
fate  in  ;  "  Yes,  for  the  old  love  was  hopeless.  I  knew  that  I 
could  make  him  happy.  I  knew  that  he  would  love  me  at  last, 
and  he  does  so  !     My  son,  your  father  loves  me  !  " 

As  she  spoke,  there  came  a  blush  as  innocent  as  virgin  ever 
knew,  to  my  mother's  smooth  cheek  ;  and  she  looked  so  fair, 
so  good,  and  still  so  young,  all  the  while,  that  you  would  have 
said  that  either  Dusius,  the  Teuton  fiend,  or  Nock,  the 
Scandinavian  sea-imp,  from  whom  the  learned  assure  us  we 
derive  our  modern  Daimones,  "  The  Deuce,"  and  Old  Nick, 
had  indeed  possessed  my  father,  if  he  had  not  learned  to  love 
such  a  creature. 


THE    CAXTON&  59 

I  pressed  her  hand  to  my  lips,  but  my  heart  was  too  fi;!!  to 
speak  for  a  moment  or  so  ;  and  then  I  partially  changed  the 
subject. 

"  Well,  and  this  rivalry  estranged  them  more  ?  And  w'no 
was  the  lady  ?  " 

"  Your  father  never  told  me,  and  I  never  asked,"  said  my 
mother  simply.  "  But  she  was  very  different  from  me,  I  know. 
Very  accomplished,  very  beautiful,  very  high-born." 

"  For  all  that,  my  father  was  a  lucky  man  to  escape  her. 
Pass  on.     What  did  the  Captain  do  ?  " 

"  Why,  about  that  time  your  grandfather  died,  and  shortly 
after  an  aunt,  on  the  mother's  side,  wb.o  was  rich  and  saving, 
died,  and  unexpectedly  left  them  each  sixteen  thousand  pounds. 
Your  uncle,  with  his  share,  bought  back,  at  an  enormous  price, 
the  old  castle  and  some  land  round  it,  which  they  say  does  not 
bring  him  in  three  hundred  a  year.  With  the  little  that 
remained,  he  purchased  a  commission  in  the  army  ;  and  the 
brothers  met  no  more  till  last  week,  when  Roland  suddenly 
arrived." 

"  He  did  not  marry  this  accomplished  young  lady  ?  " 

"  No  !  but  he  married  another,  and  is  a  widower." 

"  Why,  he  was  as  inconstant  as  my  father  ;  and  I  am  sure 
without  so  good  an  excuse.     How  was  that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     He  says  nothing  about  it." 

**  Has  he  any  children  ?  " 

"  Two,  a  son — by  the  by,  you  must  never  speak  about  him. 
Your  uncle  briefly  said,  when  I  asked  him  what  was  his  fam- 
ily :  *  A  girl,  ma'am.     I  had  a  son,  but — ' 

"'  He  is  dead,'  cried  your  father,  in  his  kind,  pitying  voice. 

"  '  Dead  to  me,  brother — and  you  will  never  mention  his 
name  ! '  You  should  have  seen  how  stern  your  uncle  looked. 
I  was  terrified." 

*'  But  the  girl — why  did  not  he  bring  her  here  ?  " 

"  She  is  still  in  France,  but  he  talks  of  going  over  for  her  ; 
and  we  have  half  promised  to  visit  them  both  in  Cumberland. 
But  bless  me  !  is  that  twelve  ?     And  the  posset  quite  cold  !  " 

"  One  word  more,  dearest  mother — one  word.  My  father's 
book — is  he  still  going  on  with  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed  !  "  cried  my  mother,  clasping  her  hands  ; 
"  and  he  must  read  it  to  you,  as  he  does  to  me — you  will  under- 
stand it  so  well.  I  have  always  been  so  anxious  that  the  world 
should  know  him,  and  be  proud  of  him  as  we  are — so — so 
anxious  ! — for,  perhaps,  Sisty,  if  he  had  married  that  great 
lady,  he  would  have  roused  himself,  been  more  ambitious— 


Co  THE   CAXTONS. 

and  I  could  only  make  him  happy,  I  could  not  make  hhn 
great !  " 

**  So  he  has  listened  to  you  at  last  ?  " 

"  To  me  !  "  said  my  mother,  shaking  her  head  and  smiling 
gently  ;  "  No,  rather  to  your  Uncle  Jack,  who,  I  am  happy  to 
say,  has  at  length  got  a  proper  hold  over  him." 

"  A  proper  hold,  my  dear  mother  !  Pray  beware  of  Uncle 
Jack,  or  we  shall  be  all  swept  into  a  coal-mine,  or  explode  with 
a  grand  national  company  for  making  gunpowder  out  of  tea- 
leaves  !  " 

**  Wicked  child  !  "  said  my  mother,  laughing  ;  and  then,  as 
she  took  up  her  candle  and  lingered  a  moment  while  I  wound 
my  watch,  she  said  musingly  :  "  Yet  Jack  is  very,  very  clever  ; 
and  if  for  your  sake  we  could  make  a  fortune,  Sisty  !  " 

"  You  frighten  me  out  of  my  wits,  mother  !  You  are  not  in 
earnest?" 

"  And  if  my  brother  could  be  the  means  of  raising  /ii'm  in  the 
world — " 

"  Your  brother  would  be  enough  to  sink  all  the  ships  in  the 
Channel,  ma'am,"  said  I,  quite  irreverently.  I  was  shocked 
before  the  words  were  well  out  of  my  mouth  ;  and  throwing 
my  arms  round  my  mother's  neck,  I  kissed  away  the  pain  I  had 
inflicted. 

When  I  was  left  alone,  and  in  my  own  little  crib,  in  which 
my  slumber  had  ever  been  so  soft  and  easy — I  might  as  well 
^ave  been  lying  upon  cut  straw.  I  tossed  to  and  fro  ;  I  could 
not  sleep.  I  rose,  threw  on  my  dressing-gown,  lighted  my 
candle,  and  sat  down  by  the  table  near  the  window.  First  I 
thought  of  the  unfinished  outline  of  my  father's  youth,  so  sud- 
denly sketched  before  me.  I  filled  up  the  missing  colors,  and 
fancied  the  picture  explained  all  that  had  often  perplexed  my 
conjectures.  I  comprehended,  I  suppose  by  some  secret  sym- 
pathy in  my  own  nature  (for  experience  in  mankind  could 
have  taught  me  little  enough),  how  an  ardent,  serious,  inquir- 
ing mind,  struggling  into  passion  under  the  load  of  knowledge, 
had,  with  that  stimulus,  sadly  and  abruptly  withdrawn,  sunk 
into  the  quiet  of  passive,  aimless  study.  I  comprehended 
how,  in  the  indolence  of  a  happy  but  unimpassioned  marriage, 
with  a  companion  so  gentle,  so  provident  and  watchful,  yet  so 
little  formed  to  rouse,  and  task,  and  fire  an  intellect  naturally 
calm  and  meditative,  years  upon  years  had  crept  away  in  the 
learned  idleness  of  a  solitary  scholar.  I  comprehended,  too, 
how  gradually  and  slowly,  as  my  father  entered  that  stage  of 
middle  life,  when  all  men  are  most  pron^c  to  ambition,  the  long- 


THE    CAXTONS.  6l 

silenced  whispers  were  heard  again  ;  and  the  mind,  at  last 
escaping  from  the  listless  weight  which  a  baffled  and  disap- 
pointed heart  had  laid  upon  it,  saw  once  more,  fair  as  in  youth, 
the  only  true  mistress  of  Genius — Fame. 

Oh  !  how  1  sympathized,  too,  in  my  mother's  gentle  triumph. 
Looking  over  the  past  I  could  see,  year  after  year,  how  she  had 
stolen  more  and  more  into  my  father's  heart  of  hearts  ;  how 
what  had  been  kindness  had  grown  into  love  ;  how  custom  and 
habit,  and  the  countless  links  in  the  sweet  charities  of  home, 
had  supplied  that  sympathy  with  the  genial  man  which  had 
been  missed  at  first  by  the  lonely  scholar. 

Next  I  thought  of  the  gray,  eagle-eyed  old  soldier,  with  his 
ruined  tower  and  barren  acres,  and  saw  before  me  his  proud, 
prejudiced,  chivalrous  boyhood,  gliding  through  the  ruins  or 
poring  over  the  mouldy  pedigree.  And  this  son,  so  disowned — ■ 
for  what  dark  offence  ? — an  awe  crept  over  me.  And  this 
girl — his  ewe  lamb — his  all — was  she  fair  ?  Had  she  blue  eyes 
like  my  mother,  or  a  high  Roman  nose  and  beetle  brows  like 
Captain  Roland  ?  I  mused,  and  mused,  and  mused — and  the 
candle  went  out,  and  the  moonlight  grew  broader  and  stiller ; 
till  at  last  I  was  sailing  in  a  balloon  with  Uncle  Jack,  and  had 
just  tumbled  into  the  Red  Sea,  when  the  well-known  voice  of 
Nurse  Primmins  restored  me  to  life  with  a  "  God  bless  my 
heart  !  the  boy  has  not  been  in  bed  all  this  'varsal  night ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

As  soon  as  I  was  dressed  I  hastened  downstairs,  for  I  longed 
to  revisit  my  old  haunts — the  little  plot  of  garden  I  had  sown 
with  anemones  and  cresses  ;  the  walk  by  the  peach  wall ;  the 
pond  wherein  I  had  angled  for  roach  and  perch. 

Entering  the  hall,  I  discovered  my  Uncle  Roland  in  a  great 
state  of  embarrassment.  The  maid-servant  was  scrubbing  the 
stones  at  the  hall-door ;  she  was  naturally  plump — and  it  is 
astonishing  how  much  more  plump  a  female  becomes  when  she 
is  on  all-fours! — the  maid-servant,  then,  was  scrubbing  the 
stones,  her  face  turned  from  the  captain  ;  and  the  captain,  evi- 
dently meditating  a  sortie,  stood  ruefully  gazing  at  the  obsta- 
cle before  him  and  hemming  aloud.  Alas,  the  maid-servant 
was  deaf  !  I  stopped,  curious  to  see  how  Uncle  Roland  would 
extricate  himself  from  the  dilemma. 

Finding  that  his  hems  were  in  vain,  my  uncle  made  himself 
as  small  as  he  could,  and  glided  close  to  the  left  of  the  wall ; 


62  THE   CAXTONS. 

at  that  instant,  the  maid  turned  abruptly  round  towards  the 
right,  and  completely  obstructed,  by  this  manoeuvre,  the  slight 
crevice  through  which  hope  had  dawned  on  her  captive.  My 
uncle  stood  stockstill,  and,  to  say  the  truth,  he  could  not  have 
stirred  an  inch  without  coming  into  personal  contact  with  the 
rounded  charms  which  blockaded  his  movements.  My  uncle 
took  off  his  hat  and  scratched  his  forehead  in  great  perplexity. 
Presently,  by  a  slight  turn  of  the  flanks,  the  opposing  party, 
while  leaving  him  an  opportunity  of  return,  entirely  precluded 
all  chance  of  egress  in  that  quarter.  My  uncle  retreated  in 
haste,  and  now  presented  himself  to  the  right  wing  of  the  ene- 
my. He  had  scarcely  done  so  when,  without  looking  behind 
her,  the  blockading  party  shoved  aside  the  pail  that  crippled 
the  range  of  her  operations,  and  so  placed  it  that  it  formed  a 
formidable  barricade,  which  my  uncle's  cork  leg  had  no  chance 
of  surmounting.  Therewith  Captain  Roland  lifted  his  eyes 
appealingly  to  heaven,  and  I  heard  him  distinctly  ejaculate  : 

"  Would  to  heaven  she  were  a  creature  in  breeches  !  " 

But  happily  at  this  moment  the  maid-servant  turned  her 
head  sharply  round,  and,  seeing  the  captain,  rose  in  an  instant, 
moved  away  the  pail,  and  dropped  a  frightened  curtsey. 

My  Uncle  Roland  touched  his  hat.  "  I  beg  you  a  thousand 
pardons,  my  good  girl,"  said  he  ;  and,  with  a  half  bow,  he  slid 
into  the  open  air. 

"  You  have  a  soldier's  politeness,  uncle,"  said  I,  tucking  my 
arm  into  Captain  Roland's. 

"Tush,  my  boy,"  .said  he,  smiling  seriously,  and  coloring  up 
to  the  temples  ;  "tush,  say  a  gentleman's  !  To  us,  sir,  every 
woman  is  a  lady,  in  right  of  her  sex." 

Now,  I  had  often  occasion  later  to  recall  that  aphorism  of 
my  uncle's  ;  and  it  served  to  explain  to  me  how  a  man,  so  prej- 
udiced on  the  score  of  family  pride,  never  seemed  to  con- 
sider it  an  offence  in  my  father  to  have  married  a  woman  whose 
pedigree  was  as  brief  as  my  dear  mother's.  Had  she  been  a 
Montmorenci,  my  uncle  could  not  have  been  more  respectful 
and  gallant  than  he  was  to  that  meek  descendant  of  the  Tib- 
betses.  He  held,  indeed,  which  I  never  knew  any  other  man, 
vain  of  family,  approve  or  support, — a  doctrine  deduced  from 
the  following  syllogisms  :  first.  That  birth  was  not  valuable  in 
itself,  but  as  a  transmission  of  certain  qualities  which  descent 
from  a  race  of  warriors  should  perpetuate,  viz.,  truth,  courage, 
honor  ;  secondly.  That,  whereas  from  the  woman's  side  we 
derive  our  more  intellectual  faculties,  from  the  man's  we  derive 
our  moral ;  a  clever  and  witty  man  generally  has  a  clever  and 


THE    CAXTONS,  63 

witty  mother  ;  a  brave  and  honorable  man,  a  brave  and  hon- 
orable father.  Therefore,  all  the  qualities  which  attention  to 
race  should  perpetuate  are  the  manly  qualities  traceable  only 
from  \h&  father's  side.  Again,  he  held  that  while  the  aristoc- 
racy have  higher  and  more  chivalrous  notions,  the  people 
generally  have  shrewder  and  livelier  ideas.  Therefore,  to  pre- 
vent gentlemen  from  degenerating  into  complete  dunderheads, 
an  admixture  with  the  people,  provided  always  it  was  on  the 
female  side,  was  not  only  excusable,  but  expedient ;  and,  finally, 
my  uncle  held,  that,  whereas  a  man  is  a  rude,  coarse,  sensual 
animal,  and  requires  all  manner  of  associations  to  dignify  and 
refine  him,  women  are  so  naturally  susceptible  of  every- 
thing beautiful  in  sentiment,  and  generous  in  purpose,  that 
she  who  is  a  true  woman  is  a  fit  peer  for  a  king.  Odd  and 
preposterous  notions,  no  doubt,  and  capable  of  much  contro- 
versy, so  far  as  the  doctrine  of  race  (if  that  be  any  way  tenable) 
is  concerned  ;  but  then  the  plain  fact  is,  that  my  Uncle  Roland 
was  as  eccentric  and  contradictory  a  gentleman — as — as — why, 
as  you  and  I  are,  if  we  once  venture  to  think  for  ourselves. 

"Well,  sir,  and  what  profession  are  you  meant  for?"  asked 
my  uncle  ;  "  not  the  army,  I  fear  ? " 

"I  have  never  thought  of  the  subject,  uncle." 

"  Thank  Heaven,"  said  Captain  Roland,  "  we  have  never 
yet  had  a  lawyer  in  the  family  !  nor  a  stockbroker,  nor  a  trades- 
man— ahem  !  " 

I  saw  that  my  great  ancestor  the  printer  suddenly  rose  up  in 
that  hem. 

"  Why,  uncle,  there  are  honorable  men  in  all  callings." 

"  Certainly,  sir.  But  in  all  callings  honor  is  not  the  first 
principle  of  action." 

"  But  it  may  be,  sir,  if  a  man  of  honor  pursue  it !  There 
are  some  soldiers  who  have  been  great  rascals  !  " 

My  uncle  looked  posed,  and  his  black  brows  met  thought- 
fully. 

"  You  are  right,  boy,  I  dare  say,"  he  answered  somewhat 
mildly.  "  But  do  you  think  that  it  ought  to  give  me  as  much 
pleasure  to  look  on  my  old  ruined  tower,  if  I  knew  it  had  been 
bought  by  some  herring-dealer,  like  the  first  ancestor  of  the 
Poles,  as  I  do  now,  when  I  know  it  was  given  to  a  knight  and 
gentleman  (who  traced  his  descent  from  an  Anglo-Dane  in  the 
time  of  King  Alfred),  for  services  done  in  Aquitaine  and 
Gascony,  by  Henry  the  Plantagenet  ?  And  do  you  mean 
to  tell  me  that  T  should  have  been  the  same  man  if  I  had 
not  from  a  boy  associated  that  old  tower  with  all  ideas  of  what 


64  THE    CAXTONS. 

its  owners  were,  and  should  be,  as  knights  and  gentlemen  ? 
Sir,  you  would  have  made  a  different  being  of  me,  if  at  the 
head  of  my  pedigree  you  had  clapped  a  herring-dealer  ;  though^ 
I  dare  say,  the  herring-dealer  might  have  been  as  good  a  man 
as  ever  the  Anglo-Dane  was  !     God  rest  him  !  " 

"  And  for  the  same  reason,  I  suppose,  sir,  that  you  think 
my  father  never  would  have  been  quite  the  same  being  he  is, 
if  he  had  not  made  that  notable  discovery  touching  our  descent 
from  the  great  William  Caxton,  the  printer  !  " 

My  uncle  bounded  as  if  he  had  been  shot ;  bounded  so 
incautiously,  considering  the  materials  of  which  one  leg  was 
composed,  that  he  would  have  fallen  into  a  strawberry-bed  if 
I  had  not  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

",Why,  you — you — you  young  jackanapes,"  cried  the  captain, 
shaking  me  off  as  soon  as  he  had  regained  his  equilibrium. 
"  You  do  not  mean  to  inherit  that  famous  crotchet  my  brother 
has  got  into  his  head  ?  You  do  not  mean  to  exchange  Sir 
William  de  Caxton,  who  fought  and  fell  at  Bosworth,  for  the 
mechanic  who  sold  black-letter  pamphlets  in  the  Sanctuary  at 
Westminster  ? " 

"  That  depends  on  the  evidence,  uncle  !  " 

"  No,  sir,  like  all  noble  truths,  it  depends  upon/aiVi.  Men, 
nowadays,"  continued  my  uncle,  with  a  look  of  ineffable  dis- 
gust, "actually  require  that  truths  should  be  proved." 

"  It  is  a  sad  conceit  on  their  part,  no  doubt,  my  dear  uncle. 
But  till  a  truth  is  proved,  how  can  we  know  that  it  is  a  truth?" 

I  thought  that  in  that  very  sagacious  question  I  had  effectu- 
ally caught  my  uncle.  Not  I.  He  slipped  through  it  like 
an  eel. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  whatever,  in  Truth,  makes  a  man's  heart 
warmer,  and  his  soul  purer,  is  a  belief,  not  a  knowledge. 
Proof,  sir,  is  a  handcuff,  belief  is  a  wing  !  Want  proof  as  to 
an  ancestor  in  the  reign  of  King  Richard  !  Sir,  you  cannot 
even  prove  to  the  satisfaction  of  a  logician  that  you  are  the 
son  of  your  own  father.  Sir,  a  religious  man  does  not  want 
to  reason  about  his  religion — religion  is  not  mathematics. 
Religion  is  to  be  felt,  not  proved.  There  are  a  great  many 
things  in  the  religion  of  a  good  man  which  are  not  in  the 
catechism.  Proof  !  "  continued  my  uncle,  growing  violent  ; 
"  Proof,  sir,  is  a  low,  vulgar,  levelling,  rascally  Jacobin — belief 
is  a  loyal,  generous,  chivalrous  gentleman  !  No,  no — prove 
what  you  please,  you  shall  never  rob  me  of  one  belief  that  has 
made  me — " 

"  The  finest-hearted  creature  that  ever  talked  nonsense,"  said 


l'll£.    CAXTONS.  65 

my  father,  who  came  up,  like  Horace's  deity,  at  the  right 
moment.  "  What  is  it  you  must  believe  in,  brother,  no  matter 
what  the  proof  against  you  ?  " 

My  uncle  was  silent,  and  with  great  energy  dug  the  point  of 
his  cane  into  the  gravel. 

"  He  will  not  believe  in  our  great  ancestor  the  printer,"  said 
I  maliciously. 

My  father's  calm  brow  was  overcast  in  a  moment, 

**  Brother,"  said  the  captain  loftily,  "  you  have  a  right  to 
your  own  ideas,  but  you  should  take  care  how  they  contami- 
nate your  child." 

"  Contaminate  !  "  said  my  father ;  and  for  the  first  time  I 
saw  an  angry  sparkle  flash  from  his  eyes,  but  he  checked  him- 
self on  the  instant :  "  Change  the  word,  my  dear  brother." 

"  No,  sir,  I  will  not  change  it  !  To  belie  the  records  of  the 
family  !  " 

"  Records  !  A  brass  plate  in  a  village  church  against  all 
the  books  of  the  College  of  Arms  !  " 

"  To  renounce  your  ancestor,  a  knight  who  died  in  the  field  ! " 

"  For  the  worst  cause  that  man  ever  fought  for  ! " 

**  On  behalf  of  his  king  !  " 

"  Who  had  murdered  his  nephews  ! " 

"  A  knight !  with  our  crest  on  his  helmet." 

"  And  no  brains  underneath  it,  or  he  would  never  have  had 
them  knocked  out  for  so  bloody  a  villain  !  " 

"  A  rascally,  drudging,  money-making  printer  ! " 

"  The  wise  and  glorious  introducer  of  the  art  that  has 
enlightened  a  world.  Prefer  for  an  ancestor,  to  one  whom 
scholar  and  sage  never  name  but  in  homage,  a  worthless,  ob- 
scure, jolter-headed  booby  in  mail,  whose  only  record  to  men 
is  a  brass  plate  in  a  church  in  a  village  !  " 

My  uncle  turned  round  perfectly  livid.  "  Enough,  sir  ! 
enough  !  I  am  insulted  sufficiently.  I  ought  to  have  expected 
it.     I  wish  you  and  your  son  a  very  good-day." 

My  father  stood  aghast.  The  captain  was  hobbling  off  to 
the  iron  gate  ;  in  another  moment  he  would  have  been  out  of 
our  precincts.  I  ran  up  and  hung  upon  him.  "Uncle,  it  is 
all  my  fault.  Between  you  and  me,  I  am  quite  of  your  side  ; 
pray,  forgive  us  both.  What  could  I  have  been  thinking  of, 
to  vex  you  so  ?  And  my  father,  whom  your  visit  has  made  so 
happy  !  " 

My  uncle  paused,  feeling  for  the  latch  of  the  gate.  My 
father  had  now  come  up,  and  caught  his  hand.  "  What  are 
all  the  printers  that  ever  lived,  and  all  the  books  they  ever 


66  THE    CAXTONS. 

printed,  to  one  wrong  to  thy  fine  heart,  Brother  Roland  ? 
Shame  on  me  !  A  bookman's  weak  point,  you  know  !  It  is 
very  true — I  should  never  have  taught  the  boy  one  thing  to 
give  you  pain,  Brother  Roland  ;  though  I  don't  remember," 
continued  my  father,  with  a  perplexed  look,  "  that  I  eve  did 
teach  it  him  either  !  Pisistratus,  as  you  value  my  blessing, 
respect  as  your  ancestor  Sir  William  de  Caxton,  the  hero  of 
Bosworth.     Come,  come,  brother  ! " 

"  I  am  an  old  fool,"  said  Uncle  Roland,  "  whichever  way  we 
look  at  it.     Ah,  you  young  dog  !  you  are  laughing  at  us  both  !  " 

"  I  have  ordered  breakfast  on  the  lawn,"  said  my  mother, 
coming  out  from  the  porch,  with  her  cheerful  smile  on  her 
lips  ;  "  and  I  think  the  devil  will  be  done  to  your  liking  to-day, 
Brother  Roland." 

"  We  have  had  enough  of  the  devil  already,  my  love,"  said 
my  father,  wiping  his  forehead. 

So,  while  the  birds  sang  overhead,  or  hopped  familiarly 
across  the  sward  for  the  crumbs  thrown  forth  to  them,  while 
the  sun  was  still  cool  in  the  east,  and  the  leaves  yet  rustled 
with  the  sweet  air  of  morning,  we  all  sat  down  to  our  table, 
with  hearts  as  reconciled  to  each  other,  and  as  peaceably  dis- 
posed to  thank  God  for  the  fair  world  around  us,  as  if  the 
river  had  never  run  red  through  the  field  of  Bosworth,  and 
that  excellent  Mr.  Caxton  had  never  set  all  mankind  by  the 
ears  with  an  irritating  invention,  a  thousand  times  more  pro- 
vocative of  our  combative  tendencies  than  the  blast  of  the 
trumpet  and  the  gleam  of  the  banner  ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

"Brother,"  said  Mr.  Caxton,  "  I  will  walk  with  you  to  the 
Roman  encampment." 

The  Captain  felt  that  this  proposal  was  meant  as  the  great- 
est peace-offering  my  father  could  think  of  ;  for,  first,  it  was 
a  very  long  walk,  and  my  father  detested  long  walks  ;  sec- 
ondly, it  was  the  sacrifice  of  a  whole  day's  labor  at  the  Great 
Work.  And  yet,  with  that  quick  sensibility,  which  only  the 
generous  possess.  Uncle  Roland  accepted  at  once  the  proposal. 
If  he  had  not  done  so,  my  father  would  have  had  a  heavier 
heart  for  a  month  to  come.  And  how  could  the  Great  Work 
have  got  on  while  the  author  was  every  now  and  then  dis- 
turbed by  a  twinge  of  remorse  ? 

Hqlf  an  hour  after  breakfast,  th^  brothers  set  off  arm-in- 


THE    CAXiONS.  6^ 

arm  ;  and  I  followed,  a  little  apart,  admiring  how  sturdily  the 
old  soldier  got  over  the  ground,  in  spite  of  the  cork  leg.  It 
was  pleasant  enough  to  listen  to  their  conversation,  and  notice 
the  contrasts  between  these  two  eccentric  stamps  from  Dame 
Nature's  ever-variable  mould — Nature  who  casts  nothing  in 
stereotype,  for  I  do  believe  that  not  even  two  fleas  can  be 
found  identically  the  same. 

My  father  was  not  a  quick  or  minute  observer  of  rural  beau- 
ties. He  had  so  little  of  the  organ  of  locality,  that  I  suspect 
he  could  have  lost  his  way  in  his  own  garden.  But  the  Cap- 
tain was  exquisitely  alive  to  external  impressions — not  a  fea- 
ture in  the  landscape  escaped  him.  At  every  fantastic  gnarled 
pollard  he  halted  to  gaze  ;  his  eye  followed  the  lark  soaring  up 
from  his  feet ;  when  a  fresher  air  came  from  the  hill-top,  his 
nostrils  dilated,  as  if  voluptuously  to  inhale  its  delight.  My 
father,  with  all  his  learning,  and  though  his  study  had  been  in 
the  stores  of  all  language,  was  very  rarely  eloquent.  The 
Captain  had  a  glow  and  a  passion  in  his  words,  which,  what 
with  his  deep,  tremulous  voice,  and  animated  gestures,  gave 
something  poetic  to  half  of  what  he  uttered.  In  every  sen- 
tence of  Roland's,  in  every  tone  of  his  voice,  and  every  play 
of  his  face,  there  was  some  outbreak  of  pride :  but,  unless  you 
set  him  on  his  hobby  of  that  great  ancestor  the  printer,  my 
father  had  not  as  much  pride  as  a  homoeopathist  could  have 
put  into  a  globule.  He  was  not  proud  even  of  not  being 
proud.  Chafe  all  his  feathers,  and  still  you  could  rouse  but 
the  dove.  My  father  was  slow  and  mild,  my  uncle  quick  and 
fiery  ;  my  father  reasoned,  my  uncle  imagined  ;  my  father  was 
very  seldom  wrong,  my  uncle  never  quite  in  the  right ;  but,  as 
my  father  once  said  of  him :  "  Roland  beats  about  the  bush 
till  he  sends  out  the  very  bird  that  we  went  to  search  for.  He 
is  never  in  the  wrong  without  suggesting  to  us  what  is  the 
right."  All  in  my  uncle  was  stern,  rough,  and  angular  ;  all  in 
my  father  was  sweet,  polished,  and  rounded  into  a  natural 
grace.  My  uncle's  character  cast  out  a  multiplicity  of  shadows, 
like  a  Gothic  pile  in  a  northern  sky.  My  father  stood  serene 
in  the  light,  like  a  Greek  temple  at  mid-day  in  a  southern 
clime.  Their  persons  corresponded  with  their  natures.  My 
uncle's  high,  aquiline  features,  bronzed  hue,  rapid  fire  of  eye, 
and  upper  lip  that  always  quivered,  were  a  notable  contrast  to 
my  father's  delicate  profile,  quiet,  abstracted  gaze,  and  the 
steady  sweetness  that  rested  on  his  musing  smile.  Roland's 
forehead  was  singularly  high,  and  rose  to  a  peak  in  the  sum- 
mit where  phrenologists  place  the  organ  of  veneration,  but  it 


68  THE    CAXTONS. 

was  narrow,  and  deeply  furrowed,  Augustine's  might  be  as 
higli,  but  then  soft,  silky  hair  waved  carelessly  over  it,  conceal- 
ing its  height,  but  not  its  vast  breadth,  on  which  not  a  wrinkle 
was  visible.  And  yet,  withal,  there  was  a  great  family  likeness 
between  the  two  brothers.  When  some  softer  sentiment  sub- 
dued him,  Roland  caught  the  very  look  of  Augustine ;  when 
some  high  emotion  animated  my  father,  you  might  have  taken 
him  for  Roland.  I  have  often  thought  since,  in  the  greater 
experience  of  mankind  which  life  has  afforded  me,  that  if,  in 
early  years,  their  destinies  had  been  exchanged — if  Roland  had 
taken  to  literature,  and  my  father  had  been  forced  into  action — 
that  each  would  have  had  greater  worldly  success.  For  Ro- 
land's passion  and  energy  would  have  given  immediate  and 
forcible  effect  to  study  ;  he  might  have  been  a  historian  or  a 
poet.  It  is  not  study  alone  that  produces  a  writer  ;  it  is  inten- 
sity. In  the  mind,  as  in  yonder  chimney,  to  make  the  fire  burn 
hot  and  quick,  you  must  narrow  the  draught.  Whereas,  had 
my  father  been  forced  into  the  practical  world,  his  calm  depth 
of  comprehension,  his  clearness  of  reason,  his  general  accuracy 
in  such  notions  as  he  once  entertained  and  pondered  over, 
joined  to  a  temper  that  crosses  and  losses  could  never  ruffle, 
an  utter  freedom  from  vanity  and  self-love,  from  prejudice  and 
passion,  might  have  made  him  a  very  wise  and  enlightened 
counsellor  in  the  great  affairs  of  life — a  lawyer,  a  diplomatist, 
a  statesman,  for  what  I  know,  even  a  great  general — if  his 
tender  humanity  had  no',  stood  in  the  way  of  his  military 
mathematics. 

But,  as  it  was — with  his  slow  pulse  never  stimulated  by 
action,  and  too  little  stirred  by  even  scholarly  ambition — my 
father's  mind  went  on  widening  and  widening,  till  the  circle 
was  lost  in  the  great  ocean  of  contemplation  ;  and  Roland's 
passionate  energy,  fretted  into  fever  by  every  let  and  hin- 
drance in  the  struggle  with  his  kind,  and  narrowed  more  and 
more  as  it  was  curbed  within  the  channels  of  active  discipline 
and  duty,  missed  its  due  career  altogether  ;  and  what  might 
have  been  the  poet  contracted  into  the  humorist. 

Yet,  who  that  had  ever  known  ye  could  have  wished  you 
other  than  ye  were — ye  guileless,  affectionate,  honest,  simple 
creatures  ? — simple  both,  in  spite  of  all  the  learning  of  the  one, 
all  the  prejudices,  whims,  irritabilities,  and  crotchets  of  the 
other  ?  There  you  are  seated  on  the  height  of  the  old  Roman 
camp,  with  a  volume  of  the  Stratagems  of  Polyoenus  (or  is  it 
Frontinus  ?)  open  on  my  father's  lap  ;  the  sheep  grazing  in  the 
furrows  of  the  circumvallations ;  the  curious  steer  gazing  at 


THE   CAXTONS.  69 

you  where  it  halts  in  the  space  whence  the  Roman  cohorts 
glittered  forth.  And  your  boy-biographer  standing  behind  you 
with  folded  arms  ;  and — as  the  scholar  read  or  the  soldier 
pointed  his  cane  to  each  fancied  post  in  the  war — filling  up  the 
pastoral  landscape  with  the  eagles  of  Agricola  and  the  scythed 
cars  of  Boadicea  ! 

CHAPTER  VI. 

"It  is  never  the  same  two  hours  together  in  this  country," 
said  my  Uncle  Roland,  as  after  dinner,  or  rather  after  dessert, 
we  joined  my  mother  in  the  drawing-room. 

Indeed,  a  cold,  drizzling  rain  had  come  on  within  the  last 
two  hours  ;  and  though  it  was  July,  it  was  as  chilly  as  if  it  had 
been  October.  My  mother  whispered  to  me,  and  I  went  out  ; 
in  ten  minutes  more,  the  logs  (for  we  lived  in  a  wooded  country) 
blazed  merrily  in  the  grate.  Why  could  not  my  my  mother 
have  rung  the  bell,  and  ordered  the  servant  to  light  a  fire  ? 
My  dear  reader.  Captain  Roland  was  poor,  and  he  made  a 
capital  virtue  of  economy  ! 

The  two  brothers  drew  their  chairs  near  to  the  hearth,  my 
father  at  the  left,  my  uncle  at  the  right  ;  and  land  my  mother 
sat  down  to  "  Fox  and  geese." 

Coffee  came  in — one  cup  for  the  Captain,  for  the  rest  of  the 
party  avoided  that  exciting  beverage.  And  on  that  cup  was  a 
picture  of — His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Wellington  ! 

During  our  visit  to  the  Roman  camp,  my  mother  had  bor- 
rowed Mr.  Squills'  chaise,  and  driven  over  to  our  market- 
town,  for  the  express  purpose  of  greeting  the  Captain's  eyes 
with  the  face  of  his  old  chief. 

My  uncle  changed  color,  rose,  lifted  my  mother's  hand  to 
his  lips,  and  sat  himself  down  again  in  silence. 

"  I  have  heard,"  said  the  Captain  aft:r  a  pause,  "  that  the 
Marquis  of  Hastings,  who  is  every  inch  a  soldier  and  a  gentle- 
man— and  that  is  saying  not  a  little,  for  he  measures  seventy- 
five  inches  from  the  crown  to  the  sole — when  he  received  Louis 
XVIII.  (then  an  exile)  at  Donnington,  fitted  up  his  apartments 
exactly  like  those  his  majesty  had  occupied  at  the  Tuileries. 
It  was  a  kingly  attention,  (my  Lord  Hastings,  you  know,  is 
sprung  from  the  Plantagenets) — a  kingly  attention  to  a  king. 
It  cost  some  money  and  made  some  noise.  A  woman  can  show 
the  same  royal  delicacy  of  heart  in  this  bit  of  porcelain,  and 
so  quietly,  that  we  men  all  think  it  a  matter  of  course,  Brother 
Austin." 


70  THE   CAXTONS. 

"  You  are  such  a  worshipper  of  women,  Rofand,  that  it  is 
melancholy  to  see  you  single.     You  must  marry  again  !" 

My  uncle  first  smiled,  then  frowned,  and  lastly  sighed  some- 
what heavily. 

"  Your  time  will  pass  slowly  in  your  old  tower,  poor  brother," 
continued  my  father,  "  with  only  your  little  girl  for  a  com- 
panion," 

"  And  the  past  !  "  said  my  uncle  ;  "  the  past,  that  mighty 
world — " 

"  Do  you  still  read  your  old  books  of  chivalry,  Froissart  and 
the  Chronicles,  Palmerin  of  England  and  Amadisof  Gaul  ?" 

"  Why,"  said  my  uncle,  reddening,  "  I  have  tried  to  improve 
myself  with  studies  a  little  more  substantial.  And  (he  added 
with  a  sly  smile)  there  will  be  your  great  book  for  many  a  long 
winter  to  come." 

**  Um  !  "  said  my  father  bashfully. 

"  Do  you  know,"  quoth  my  uncle,  "  that  Dame  Primmins  is 
a  very  intelligent  woman  ;  full  of  fancy,  and  a  capital  story- 
teller?" 

"  Is  not  she,  uncle  ?"  cried  I,  leaving  my  fox  in  a  corner. 
"  Oh,  if  you  could  hear  her  tell  the  tale  of  King  Arthur  and 
the  Enchanted  Lake,  or  the  Grim  White  Woman  ! " 

*'  I  have  already  heard  her  tell  both,"  said  my  uncle. 

"  The  deuce  you  have,  brother  !  My  dear,  we  must  look  to 
this.  These  captains  are  dangerous  gentleman  in  an  orderly 
household.  Pray,  where  could  you  have  had  the  opportunity 
of  such  private  communications  with  Mrs  Primmins  .-'" 

"  Once,"  said  my  uncle  readily,  "  when  I  went  into  her  room, 
while  she  mended  my  stock  ;  and  once  " — he  stopped  short,  and 
looked  down. 

"  Once  when  ?     Out  with  it." 

"  When  she  was  warming  my  bed,"  said  my  uncle,  in  a  half- 
whisper. 

"  Dear  !  "  said  my  mother  innocently,  **  that's  how  the  sheets 
came  by  that  bad  hole  in  the  middle.  I  thought  it  was  the 
warming-pan." 

"  I  am  quite  shocked  ! "  faltered  my  uncle. 

"  You  well  may  be,"  said  my  father.  "  A  woman  who  has 
been  heretofore  above  all  suspicion  !  But  come,"  he  said, 
seeing  that  my  uncle  looked  sad,  and  was  no  doubt  casting  up 
the  probable  price  of  twice  six  yards  of  Holland  ;  "  But  come, 
you  were  always  a  famous  rhapsodist  or  tale-teller  yourself. 
Come,  Roland,  let  us  have  some  story  of  your  own  ;  something 
which  your  experience  has  left  strong  in  your  impressions." 


THE    CAXTONS.  71 

'*  Let  us  first  have  the  candles,"  said  my  mother. 

The  candles  were  brought,  the  curtains  let  down,  we  all  drew 
our  chairs  to  the  hearth.  But,  in  the  interval,  my  uncle  had 
sunk  into  a  gloomy  revery  ;  and  when  we  called  upon  him  to 
begin,  he  seemed  to  shake  off  with  effort  some  recollections  of 
pain. 

"  You  ask  me,"  he  said,  "  to  tell  you  some  tale  which  my 
own  experience  has  left  deeply  marked  in  my  impressions — I 
will  tell  you  one  apart  from  my  own  life,  but  which  has  often 
haunted  me.     It  is  sad  and  strange,  ma'am." 

"  Ma'am,  brother  ?  "  said  my  mother  reproachfully,  letting 
l^r  small  hand  drop  upon  that  which,  large  and  sunburnt,  the 
Captain  waved  towards  her  as  he  spoke. 

"  Austin,  you  have  married  an  angel  !  "  said  my  uncle  ;  and 
he  was,  I  believe,  the  only  brother-in-law  who  ever  made  so 
hazardous  an  assertion. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MY    UNCLE    ROLAND'S   TALE. 

"  It  was  in  Spain,  no  matter  where  or  how,  that  it  was  my 
fortune  to  take  prisoner  a  French  officer  of  the  same  rank  that 
I  then  held — a  lieutenant  ;  and  there  was  so  much  similarity 
in  our  sentiments  that  we  became  intimate  friends — the  most 
intimate  friend  I  ever  had,  sister,  out  of  this  dear  circle.  He 
was  a  rough  soldier,  whom  the  world  had  not  well  treated  ; 
but  he  never  railed  at  the  world,  and  maintained  that  he  had 
had  his  deserts.  Honor  was  his  idol,  and  the  sense  of  honor 
paid  him  for  the  loss  of  all  else. 

"  We  were  both  at  that  time  volunteers  in  a  foreign  service — 
in  that  worst  of  service,  civil  war — he  on  one  side,  I  the  other  ; 
both,  perhaps,  disappointed  in  the  cause  we  had  severally 
espoused.  There  was  something  similar,  too,  in  our  domestic 
relationships.  He  had  a  son — a  boy — who  was  all  in  life  to 
him,  next  to  his  country  and  his  duty.  I,  too,  had  then  such 
a  son,  though  of  fewer  years."  (The  Captain  paused  an 
instant  :  we  exchanged  glances,  and  a  stifling  sensation  of  pain 
and  suspense  was  felt  by  all  his  listeners.)  "  We  were  accus- 
tomed, brother,  to  talk  of  these  children  :  to  picture  their 
future,  to  compare  our  hopes  and  dreams.  We  hoped  and 
dreamed  alike.     A  short  time  sufficed  to  establish  this  conh- 


7a  THE   CAXTONS. 

dence.  My  prisoner  was  sent  to  headquarters,  and  soon  after- 
wards exchanged. 

"  We  met  no  more  till  last  year.  Being  then  at  Paris,  I 
inquired   for  my  old  friend,  and  learned  that  he  was  living  at 

R ,  a  few  miles  from  the  capital.     I  went  to  visit  him.     I 

found  his  house  empty  and  deserted.  That  very  day  he  had 
been  led  to  prison,  charged  with  a  terrible  crime.  I  saw  him 
in  that  prison,  and  from  his  own  lips  learned  his  story.  His 
son  had  been  brought  up,  as  he  fondly  believed,  in  the  habits 
and   principles  of   honorable  men  ;  and,  having  finished   his 

education,  came  to  reside  with   him  at  R .     The  young 

man  was  accustomed  to  go  frequently  to  Paris.  A  young 
Frenchman  loves  pleasure,  sister,  and  pleasure  is  found  at  Paris. 
The  father  thought  it  natural,  and  stripped  his  age  of  some 
comforts  to  supply  luxuries  to  the  son's  youth. 

"  Shortly  after  the  young  man's  arrival,  my  friend  perceived 
that  he  was  robbed.  Moneys  kept  in  his  bureau  were 
abstracted  he  knew  not  how,  nor  could  guess  by  whom.  It 
must  be  done  in  the  night.  He  concealed  himself,  and  watched. 
He  saw  a  stealthy  figure  glide  in,  he  saw  a  false  key  applied 
to  the  lock  ;  he  started  forward,  seized  the  felon,  and  recog- 
nized his  son.  What  should  the  father  have  done  ?  I  do  not 
ask  you,  sister  !  I  ask  these  men  ;  son  and  father,  I  ask 
you." 

"  Expelled  him  the  house,"  cried  I. 

"  Done  his  duty,  and  reformed  the  unhappy  wretch,"  said 
my  father.  '■'■Nemo  repejite  turpissimus  sempey  fuit — No  man 
is  wholly  bad  all  at  once." 

"  The  father  did  as  you  would  have  advised,  brother.  He 
kept  the  youth  ;  he  remonstrated  with  him  ;  he  did  more — he 
gave  him  the  key  of  the  bureau.  '  Take  what  I  have  to  give,' 
said  he  :  *  I  would  rather  be  a  beggar  than  know  my  son  a 
thief.'  • 

"  Right :  and  the  youth  repented,  and  became  a  good 
man  ? "  exclaimed  my  father. 

Captain  Roland  shook  his  head.  "  The  youth  promised 
amendment,  and  seemed  penitent.  He  spoke  of  the  tempta- 
tions of  Paris,  the  gaming-table,  and  what  not.  He  gave  up 
his  daily  visits  to  the  capital.  He  seemed  to  apply  to  study. 
Shortly  after  this,  the  neighborhood  was  alarmed  by  reports  of 
night  robberies  on  the  road.  Men,  masked  and  armed,  plun- 
dered travellers,  and  even  broke  into  houses. 

"  The  police  were  on  the  alert.  One  night  an  old  brother 
pfficer  knocked  at  my  fr'.end's  door.     It  was  late  :  the  veteran 


THE    CAXTONS.  73 

(he  was  a  cripple,  by  the  way,  like  myself — strange  coinci- 
dence ! )  was  in  bed.  He  came  down  in  haste,  when  his  ser- 
vant woke,  and  told  him  that  his  old  friend,  wounded  and 
bleeding,  sought  an  asylum  under  his  roof.  The  wound, 
however,  was  slight.  The  guest  had  been  attacked  and  robbed 
on  the  road.  The  next  morning  the  proper  authority  of  the 
town  was  sent  for.  The  plundered  man  described  his  loss — 
some  billets  of  five  hundred  francs  in  a  pocket-book,  on  which 
was  embroidered  his  name  and  coronet  (he  was  a  vicomte). 
The  guest  stayed  to  dinner.  Late  in  the  forenoon  the  son 
looked  in.  The  guest  started  to  see  him  :  my  friend  noticed 
his  paleness.  Shortly  after,  on  pretence  of  faintness,  the  guest 
retired  to  his  room,  and  sent  for  his  host.  '  My  friend,'  said 
he,  '  can  you  do  me  a  favor  ?  Go  to  the  magistrate  and  recall 
the  evidence  I  have  given.' 

"  '  Impossible,'  said  the  host.     '  What  crotchet  is  this  ? ' 

"The  guest  shuddered.  ^Feste !'  said  he  :  *  I  do  not  wish 
in  my  old  age  to  be  hard  on  others.  Who  knows  how  the 
robber  may  have  been  tempted,  and  who  knows  what  relations 
he  may  have — honest  men,  whom  his  crime  would  degrade 
forever  !  Good  heavens !  if  detected,  it  is  the  galleys,  the 
galleys  ! ' 

"  And  what  then  ?     The  robber  knew  what  he  braved.' 

"  'But  did  his  father  know  it  ? '  cried  the  guest. 

**  A  light  broke  upon  my  unhappy  comrade  in  arms  :  he 
caught  his  friend  by  the  hand  :  '  You  turned  pale  at  my  son's 
sight — where  did  you  ever  see  him  before  ?     Speak  ? ' 

" '  Last  night,  on  the  road  to  Paris.  The  mask  slipped 
aside.     Call  back  my  evidence  ! ' 

" '  You  are  mistaken,'  said  my  friend  calmly.  '  I  saw  my 
son  in  his  bed,  and  blessed  him,  before  I  went  to  my  own.' 

"  '  I  will  believe  you,'  said  the  guest ;  'and  never  shall  my 
hasty  suspicion  pass  my  lips — but  call  back  the  evidence.' 

"  The  guest  returned  to  Paris  before  dusk.  The  father 
conversed  with  his  son  on  the  subject  of  his  studies ;  he 
followed  him  to  his  room,  waited  till  he  was  in  bed,  and  was 
then  about  to  retire,  when  the  youth  said  :  *  Father,  you  have 
forgotten  your  blessing.' 

"  The  father  went  back,  laid  his  hand  on  the  boy's  head  and 
prayed.  He  was  credulous — fathers  are  so  !  He  was  per- 
suaded that  his  friend  had  been  deceived.  He  retired  to  rest, 
and  fell  asleep.  He  woke  suddenly  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
and  felt  (I  here  quote  his  words) — '  I  felt,'  said  he,  *  as  if  a 
voice  had  awakened  me — a  voice  that  said  "  Rise  and  search." 


74  THE   CAXTONS. 

I  arose  at  once,  struck  a  light,  and  went  to  my  son's  room. 
The  door  was  locked.  I  knocked  once,  twice,  thrice, — no 
answer.  I  dared  not  call  aloud,  lest  I  should  rouse  the  ser- 
vants. I  went  down  the  stairs — I  opened  the  back-door — I 
passed  to  the  stables.  My  own  horse  was  there,  not  my 
son's.  My  horse  neighed  ;  it  was  old,  like  myself — my  old 
charger  at  Mount  St.  Jean  !  I  stole  back,  I  crept  into  the 
shadow  of  the  wall  by  my  son's  door,  and  extinguished  my 
light.     1  felt  as  if  I  were  a  thief  myself."  * 

"  Brother,"  interrupted  my  mother  under  her  breath,  *'  speak 
in  your  own  words,  not  in  this  wretched  father's.  I  know  not 
why,  but  it  would  shock  me  less." 

The  Captain  nodded. 

'•Before  day-break,  my  friend  heard  the  back-door  open 
gently  ;  a  foot  ascended  the  stair,  a  key  grated  in  the  door  of 
the  room  close  at  hand — the  father  glided  through  the  dark 
into  that  chamber  behind  his  unseen  son. 

"  He  heard  the  clink  of  the  tinder-box  ;  a  light  was  struck  ; 
it  spread  over  the  room,  but  he  had  time  to  place  himself  behind 
the  window-curtain,  which  was  close  at  hand.  The  figure  before 
him  stood  a  moment  or  so  motionless,  and  seemed  to  listen,  for 
it  turned  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  its  visage  covered  with  the 
black,  hideous  mask  which  is  worn  in  carnivals.  Slowly  the 
mask  was  removed  ;  could  that  be  his  son's  face  ?  The  son 
of  a  brave  man?  It  was  pale  and  ghastly  with  scoundrel 
fears  ;  the  base  drops  stood  on  the  brow  ;  the  eye  was  haggard 
and  bloodshot.  He  looked  as  a  coward  looks  when  death 
stands  before  him. 

"  The  youth  walked,  or  rather  skulked,  to  the  secretaire, 
unlocked  it,  opened  a  secret  drawer ;  placed  within  it  the 
contents  of  his  pockets  and  his  frightful  mask  :  the  father 
approached  softly,  looked  over  his  shoulder,  and  saw  in  the 
drawer  the  pocket-book  embroidered  with  his  friend's  name. 
Meanwhile,  the  son  took  out  his  pistols,  uncocked  them 
cautiously,  and  was  about  also  to  secrete  them  when  his  father 
arrested  his  arm.     *  Robber,  the  use  of  these  is  yet  to  come." 

"The  .son's  knees  knocked  together,  an  exclamation  for 
mercy  burst  from  his  lips  ;  but  when,  recovering  the  mere 
shock  of  his  dastard  nerves,  he  perceived  it  was  not  the  gripe 
of  some  hireling  of  the  law,  but  a  father's  hand  that  had 
clutched  his  arm,  the  vile  audacity  which  knows  fear  only  from 
a  bodily  cause,  none  from  the  awe  of  shame,  returned  to  him. 

" '  Tush,  sir,'  he  said,  '  waste  not  time  in  reproaches,  for,  I 
fear,  the  gens-d'armes  are  on  my  track.     It  is  well  that  you 


THE   CAXTONS.  75 

are  here  ;  you  can  swear  that  I  have  spent  the  night  at  home. 
Unhand  me,  old  man — I  have  these  witnesses  still  to  secrete,' 
and  he  pointed  to  the  garments  wet  and  dabbled  with  the  mud 
of  the  roads.  He  had  scarcely  spoken  when  the  walls  shook  ; 
there  was  the  heavy  clatter  of  hoofs  on  the  ringing  pavement 
without. 

'"They  come!'  cried  the  son.  'Off,  dotard!  save  your 
son  from  the  galleys.' 

"  *  The  galleys,  the  galleys  I '  said  the  father  staggering  back  ; 
*  it  is  true — he  said — "  the  galleys." ' 

"There  was  a  loud  knocking  at  the  gate.  The gens-iParmes 
surrounded  the  house.  '  Open,  in  the  name  of  the  law.'  No 
answer  came,  no  door  was  opened.  Some  of  the  gens-d' armes 
rode  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  in  which  was  placed  the  stable- 
yard.  From  the  window  of  the  son's  room,  the  father  saw  the 
sudden  blaze  of  torches,  the  shadowy  forms  of  the  men- 
hunters.  He  heard  the  clatter  of  arms  as  they  swung  them- 
selves from  their  horses.  He  heard  a  voice  cry  :  '  Yes,  this  is 
the  robber's  gray  horse — see,  it  still  reeks  with  sweat ! '  And 
behind  and  in  front,  at  either  door,  again  came  the  knocking, 
and  again  the  shout :  '  Open,  in  the  name  of  the  law.' 

"  Then  lights  began  to  gleam  from  the  casements  of  the 
neighboring  houses  ;  then  the  space  filled  rapidly  with  curious 
wonderers  startled  from  their  sleep ;  the  world  was  astir,  and 
the  crowd  came  round  to  know  what  crime  or  what  shame  had 
entered  the  old  soldier's  home. 

"  Suddenly,  within,  there  was  heard  the  report  of  a  firearm  ; 
and  a  minute  or  so  afterwards  the  front  door  was  opened,  and 
the  soldier  appeared. 

"  '  Enter,'  he  said  to  the  gens-d' armes  :  *  what  would  you  ?  * 

"  'We  seek  a  robber  who  is  within  your  walls.' 

" '  I  know  it ;  mount  and  find  him  :  I  will  lead  the  way.' 

"  He  ascended  the  stairs,  he  threw  open  his  son's  room  ;  the 
officers  of  justice  poured  in,  and  on  the  floor  lay  the  robber's 
corpse. 

"  They  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement.  *  Take  what  is 
left  you,'  said  the  father.  <  Take  the  dead  man  rescued  from 
the  galleys  ;  take  the  living  man  on  whose  hands  rests  the 
dead  man's  blood  !  " 

"  I  was  present  at  my  friend's  trial.  The  facts  had  become 
known  beforehand.  He  stood  there  with  his  gray  hair,  and 
his  mutilated  limbs,  and  the  deep  scar  on  his  visage,  and  the 
cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  on  his  breast  ;  and  when  he  had 
told  his  tale,  he  ended  with  these  words  :  *  I  have  saved  the 


f6  THE    CAXTONS. 

son  whom  I  reared  for  France  from  a  doom  that  would  have 
spared  the  life  to  brand  it  with  disgrace.  Is  this  a  crime?  I 
give  you  ray  life  in  exchange  for  my  son's  disgrace.  Does  my 
country  need  a  victim  !  I  have  lived  for  my  country's  glory, 
and  I  can  die  contented  to  satisfy  its  laws  ;  sure  that,  if  you 
blame  me,  you  will  not  despise ;  sure  that  the  hands  that  give 
me  to  the  headsman  will  scatter  flowers  over  my  grave.  Thus 
I  confess  all.  I,  a  soldier,  look  round  amongst  a  nation  of 
soldiers  ;  and  in  the  name  of  the  star  which  glitters  on  my 
breast,  I  dare  the  Fathers  of  France  to  condemn  me  ! ' 

"  They  acquitted  the  soldier — at  least  they  gave  a  verdict 
answering  to  what  in  our  courts  is  called  'justifiable  homicide.' 
A  shout  rose  in  the  court,  which  no  ceremonial  voice  could 
still ;  the  crowd  would  have  borne  him  in  triumph  to  his  house, 
but  his  look  repelled  such  vanities.  To  his  house  he  returned 
indeed,  and  the  day  afterwards  they  found  him  dead,  beside 
the  cradle  in  which  his  first  prayer  had  been  breathed  over  his 
sinless  child.  Now,  father  and  son,  I  ask  you,  do  you  condemn 
that  man  ?  " 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

My  father  took  three  strides  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
then,  halting  on  his  hearth,  and  facing  his  brother,  he  thus 
spoke  :  "  I  condemn  his  deed,  Roland  I  At  best  he  was  but  a 
haughty  egotist.  1  understand  why  Brutus  should  slay  his 
sons.  By  that  sacrifice  he  saved  his  country  !  What  did  this 
poor  dupe  of  an  exaggeration  save  ? — nothing  but  his  own 
name.  He  could  not  lift  the  crime  from  his  son's  soul,  nor 
the  dishonor  from  his  son's  memory.  He  could  but  gratify 
his  own  vain  pride  ;  and,  insensibly  to  himself,  his  act  was 
whispered  to  him  by  the  fiend  that  ever  whispers  to  the  heart 
of  man  :  '  Dread  men's  opinions  more  than  God's  law  ! '  Oh, 
my  dear  brother,  what  minds  like  yours  should  guard  against 
the  most  is  not  the  meanness  of  evil,  it  is  the  evil  that  takes 
false  nobility,  by  garbing  itself  in  the  royal  magnificence  of 
good."  My  uncle  walked  to  the  window,  opened  it,  looked 
out  a  moment,  as  if  to  draw  in  fresh  air,  closed  it  gently,  and 
came  back  again  to  his  seat ;  but  during  the  short  time  the 
window  had  been  left  open,  a  moth  flew  in. 

"  Tales  like  these,"  renewed  my  father  pityingly,  "  whether 
told  by  some  great  tragedian,  or  in  thy  simple  style,  my 
brother — tales  like  these  have  their  uses  :  they  penetrate  the 
heart  to  make  it  wiser  ;  but  all  wisdom  is  meek,  my  Roland. 


THE   CAXTONS.  77 

They  invite  us  to  put  the  question  to  ourselves  that  thou  hast 
asked  :  'Can  we  condemn  this  man  ?'  and  reason  answers,  as 
I  have  answered  :  *  We  pity  the  man,  we  condemn  the  deed.* 
We — take  care,  my  love  !  that  moth  will  be  in  the  candle. 
We — whish  ! — whish — /  "  and  my  father  stopped  to  drive  away 
the  moth.  My  uncle  turned,  and  taking  his  handkerchief 
from  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  of  which  he  had  wished  to 
conceal  the  workings,  he  flapped  away  the  moth  from  the  flame. 
My  mother  moved  the  candles  from  the  moth.  I  tried  to  catch 
the  moth  in  my  father's  straw-hat.  The  deuce  was  in  the 
moth  !  It  baffled  us  all ;  now  circling  against  the  ceiling,  now 
sweeping  down  at  the  fatal  lights.  As  if  by  a  simultaneous 
impulse,  my  father  approached  one  candle,  my  uncle  approached 
the  other  ;  and  just  as  the  moth  was  wheeling  round  and  round, 
irresolute  which  to  choose  for  its  funeral  pyre,  both  candles 
were  put  out.  The  fire  had  burned  down  low  in  the  grate, 
and  in  the  sudden  dimness  my  father's  soft,  sweet  voice  came 
forth,  as  if  from  an  invisible  being  :  "  We  leave  ourselves  in 
the  dark  to  save  a  moth  from  the  flame,  brother  !  shall  we  do 
less  for  our  fellow-men  ?  Extinguish,  oh,  humanely  extinguish 
the  light  of  our  reason,  when  the  darkness  more  favors  out 
mercy."  Before  the  lights  were  relit,  my  uncle  had  left  the 
room.  His  brother  followed  him  ;  my  mother  and  I  drew 
near  to  each  other,  and  talked  in  whispers. 


PART  FOURTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

I  WAS  always  an  early  riser.  Happy  the  man  who  is ! 
Every  morning,  day  comes  to  him  with  a  virgin's  love,  full  of 
bloom,  and  purity,  and  freshness.  The  youth  of  Nature  is 
contagious,  like  the  gladness  of  a  happy  child.  I  doubt  if  any 
man  can  be  called  "  old  "  so  long  as  he  is  an  early  riser,  and 
an  early  walker.  And  oh,  Youth  ! — take  my  word  of  it — youth 
in  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  dawdling  over  breakfast  at 
noon,  is  a  very  decrepit,  ghastly  image  of  that  youth  which  sees 
the  sun  blush  over  the  mountains,  and  the  dews  sparkle  upon 
blossoming  hedgerows. 

Passing  by  my  father's  study,  I  was  surprised  to  see  the 


78  THE   CAXTOMS. 

windows  unclosed — surprised  more,  on  looking  in,  to  see  him 
bending  over  his  books — for  I  had  never  before  known  him 
study  till  after  the  morning  meal.  Students  are  not  usually- 
early  risers,  for  students,  alas  !  whatever  their  age,  are  rarely 
young.  Yes  ;  the  Great  Book  must  be  getting  on  in  serious 
earnest.  It  was  no  longer  dalliance  with  learning  :  this  was 
work. 

I  passed  through  the  gates  into  the  road.  A  few  of  the  cot- 
tages were  giving  signs  of  returning  life  ;  but  it  was  not  yet 
the  hour  for  labor,  and  no  "  Good-morning,  sir,"  greeted  me 
on  the  road.  Suddenly  at  a  turn,  which  an  overhanging  beech- 
tree  had  before  concealed,  I  came  full  upon  my  Uncle 
Roland. 

"  What  !  you,  sir  ?  So  early  ?  Hark,  the  clock  is  striking 
five  !  " 

"  Not  later  !  I  have  walked  well  for  a  lame  man.  It  must 
be  mere  than  four  miles  to and  back." 

"  You  have  been  to :  not  on  business  ?    No  soul  would 

be  up." 

"  Yes,  at  inns,  there  is  always  some  one  up.  Ostlers  never 
sleep  !  I  have  been  to  order  my  humble  chaise  and  pair.  I 
leave  you  to-day,  nephew." 

"  Ah,  uncle,  we  have  offended  you.  It  was  my  folly,  that 
cursed  print — " 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  my  uncle  quickly.  "  Offended  me,  boy  !  I 
defy  you  ! "  and  he  pressed  my  hand  roughly. 

"  Yet  this  sudden  determination  !  It  was  but  yesterday,  at 
the  Roman  Camp,  that  you  planned  an  excursion  with  my 
father,  to  C Castle." 

"  Never  depend  upon  a  whimsical  man.  I  must  be  in  Lon- 
don to-night." 

"  And  return  to-morrow  ? " 

"  I  know  not  when,"  said  my  uncle  gloomily ;  and  he  was 
silent  for  some  moments.  At  length,  leaning  less  lightly  on 
my  arm,  he  continued  :  **  Young  man,  you  have  pleased  me. 
I  love  that  open,  saucy  brow  of  yours,  on  which  Nature  has 
written  '  Trust  me.'  I  love  those  clear  eyes,  that  look  one 
manfully  in  the  face.  I  must  know  more  of  you — much  of 
you.  You  must  come  and  see  me  some  day  or  other  in  your 
ancestors*  ruined  keep." 

"  Come  !  that  I  will.  And  you  shall  show  me  the  old 
tower — " 

"  And  the  traces  of  the  outworks  !  "  cried  my  uncle,  flour- 
ishing his  stick. 


THE   CAXTONS.  79 

"  And  the  pedigree — " 

"  Ay,  and  your  great-great-grandfather's  armor,  which  he 
wore  at  Marston  Moor — " 

"Yes,  and  the  brass  plate  in  the  church,  uncle." 

"  The  deuce  is  in  the  boy  !  Come  here,  come  here  ;  I've 
three  minds  to  break  your  head,  sir  !  " 

"  It  is  a  pity  somebody  had  not  broken  the  rascally  printer's, 
before  he  had  the  impudence  to  disgrace  us  by  having  a  family, 
uncle." 

Captain  Roland  tried  hard  to  frown,  but  he  could  not. 
*'  Pshaw  !  "  said  he,  stopping,  and  taking  snuff.  "  The  world 
of  the  dead  is  wide  ;  why  should  the  ghosts  jostle  us  ?  " 

"  We  can  never  escape  the  ghosts,  uncle.  They  haunt  us 
always.  We  cannot  think  or  act,  but  the  soul  of  some  man, 
who  has  lived  before,  points  the  way.  The  dead  never  die, 
especially  since — " 

"  Since  what,  boy  ? — you  speak  well." 

"  Since  our  great  ancestor  introduced  printing,"  said  I  ma- 
jestically. 

My  uncle  whistled  "  Malbrouk  s'en  va-t-eji  guerre." 

I  had  not  the  heart  to  plague  him  further. 

"  Peace  ! "  said  I,  creeping  cautiously  within  the  circle  of 
the  stick. 

"  No  !     I  forewarn  you — " 

"  Peace  !  and  describe  to  me  my  little  cousin,  your  pretty 
daughter — for  pretty  I  am  sure  she  is." 

''  Peace,"  said  my  uncle,  smiling.  "  But  you  must  come  and 
judge  for  yourself." 

CHAPTER  II. 

Uncle  Roland  was  gone.  Before  he  went,  he  was  closeted 
for  an  hour  with  my  father,  who  then  accompanied  him  to  the 
gate  ;  and  we  all  crowded  round  him  as  he  stepped  into  his 
chaise.  When  the  Captain  was  gone,  I  tried  to  sound  my 
father  as  to  the  cause  of  so  sudden  a  departure.  But  my 
father  was  impenetrable  in  all  that  related  to  his  brother's 
secrets.  Whether  or  not  the  Captain  had  ever  confided  to  him 
the  cause  of  his  displeasure  with  his  son — a  mystery  which 
much  haunted  me — my  father  was  mute  on  that  score,  both  to 
my  mother  and  myself.  For  two  or  three  days,  however,  Mr. 
Caxton  was  evidently  unsettled.  He  did  not  even  take  to  his 
Great  Work,  but  walked  much  alone,  or  accompanied  only  by 
the  duck,  and  without  even  a  book  in  his  hand.     But  by  de- 


8o  the;    CAXTONS. 

giees  the  scholarly  habits  returned  to  him  ;  my  raothermended 
his  pens,  and  the  work  went  on. 

For  my  part,  left  much  to  myself,  especially  in  the  mornings, 
I  began  to  muse  restlessly  over  the  future.  Ungrateful  that  I 
was,  the  happiness  of  home  ceased  to  content  me.  I  heard 
afar  the  roar  of  the  great  world,  and  roved  impatient  by  the 
shore. 

At  length  one  evening,  my  father,  with  some  modest  hums 
and  ha's,  and  an  unaffected  blush  on  his  fair  forehead,  grati- 
fied a  prayer  frequently  urged  on  him,  and  read  me  some 
portions  of  the  Great  Work.  I  cannot  express  the  feel- 
ings this  lecture  created ;  they  were  something  akin  to 
awe.  For  the  design  of  this  book  was  so  immense,  and 
towards  its  execution,  a  learning  so  vast  and  various  had  ad- 
ministered, that  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  a  spirit  had  opened  to 
m.e  a  new  world,  which  had  always  been  before  my  feet,  but 
which  my  own  human  blindness  had  hitherto  concealed  from 
me.  The  unspeakable  patience  with  which  all  these  materials 
had  been  collected,  year  after  year  ;  the  ease  with  which  now, 
by  the  calm  power  of  genius,  they  seemed  of  themselves  to  fall 
into  harmony  and  system  ;  the  unconscious  humility  with 
which  the  scholar  exposed  the  stores  of  a  laborious  life — all 
combined  to  rebuke  my  own  restlessness  and  ambition,  while 
they  filled  me  with  a  pride  in  my  father,  which  saved  my  wounded 
egotism  from  a  pang.  Here,  indeed,  was  one  of  those  books 
which  embraces  an  existence  ;  like  the  Dictionary  of  Bayle, 
or  the  History  of  Gibbon,  or  the  Fasti  Hellenici  of  Clinton,  it 
was  a  book  to  which  thousands  of  books  had  contributed,  only 
to  make  the  originality  of  the  single  mind  more  bold  and  clear. 
Into  the  furnace  all  vessels  of  gold,  of  all  ages,  had  been  cast  ; 
but  from  the  mould  came  the  new  coin,  with  its  single  stamp. 
And  happily,  the  subject  of  the  work  did  not  forbid  to  the 
writer  the  indulgence  of  his  naive,  peculiar  irony  of  humor — so 
quiet,  yet  so  profound.  My  father's  book  was  the  "  History 
of  Human  Error."  It  was,  therefore,  the  moral  history  of 
mankind,  told  with  truth  and  earnestness,  yet  with  an  arch, 
unmalignant  smile.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  smile  drew  tears. 
But  in  all  true  humor  lies  its  germ,  pathos.  Oh  !  by  the  god- 
dess Moria  or  Folly,  but  he  was  at  home  in  his  theme  ".  Ke 
viewed  man  first  in  the  savage  state,  preferring  in  this  the 
positive  accounts  of  voyagers  and  travellers,  to  the  vague 
myths  of  antiquity,  and  the  dreams  of  speculators  on  our 
pristine  state.  From  Australia  and  Abyssinia  he  drew  pictures 
of  mortality  unadorned,  as  lively  as  if  he  had  lived  amongst 


THE   CAXTONS.  8l 

Bushmen  and  savages  all  his  life.  Then  he  crossed  over  the 
Atlantic  and  brought  before  you  the  American  Indian,  with 
his  noble  nature,  struggling  into  the  dawn  of  civilization, 
when  friend  Penn  cheated  him  out  of  his  birthright,  and  the 
Anglo  Saxon  drove  him  back  into  darkness.  He  showed  both 
analogy  and  contrast  between  this  specimen  of  our  kind,  and 
others  equally  apart  from  the  extremes  of  the  savage  state 
and  the  cultured.  The  Arab  in  his  tent,  the  Teuton  in  his 
forests,  the  Greenlander  in  his  boat,  the  Fiji  in  his  reindeer 
car.  Up  sprang  the  rude  gods  of  the  north,  and  the  resusci- 
tated iJruidism,  passing  from  its  earliest  templeless  belief  into 
the  later  corruptions  of  crommell  and  idol.  Up  sprang,  by 
their  side,  the  Saturn  of  the  Phoenicians,  the  mystic  Budh  of 
India,  the  elementary  deities  of  the  Pelasgian,  the  Naith  and 
Serapis  of  Egypt,  the  Ormuzd  of  Persia,  the  Bel  of  Babylon, 
the  winged  genii  of  the  graceful  Etruria.  How  nature  and  life 
shaped  the  religion  ;  how  the  religion  shaped  the  manners  ;how, 
and  by  what  influences,  some  tribes  were  formed  for  progress  ; 
how  others  were  destined  to  remain  stationary,  or  be  swallowed 
up  in  war  and  slavery  by  their  brethren,  was  told  with  a  pre- 
cision clear  and  strong  as  the  voice  of  Fate.  Not  only  an  anti- 
quarian and  philologist,  but  an  anatomist  and  philosopher, 
my  father  brought  to  bear  on  all  these  grave  points  the  various 
speculations  involved  in  the  distinction  of  races.  He  showed 
how  race  in  perfection  is  produced,  up  to  a  certain  point,  by 
admixture  ;  how  all  mixed  races  have  been  the  most  intelligent ; 
how,  in  proportion  as  local  circumstances  and  religious 
faith  permitted  the  early  fusion  of  different  tribes,  races 
improved  and  quickened  into  the  refinements  of  civiliza- 
tion. He  tracked  the  progress  and  dispersion  of  the  Hel- 
lenes, from  their  mythical  cradle  in  Thessaly  ;  and  showed 
how  those  who  settled  near  the  seashores,  and  were  compelled 
into  commerce  and  intercourse  with  strangers,  gave  to  Greece 
her  marvellous  accomplishments  in  arts  and  letters — the  flowers 
of  the  ancient  world.  How  others,  like  the  Spartans,  dwelling 
evermore  in  a  camp,  on  guard  against  their  neighbors,  and 
rigidly  preserving  their  Dorian  purity  of  extraction,  con- 
tributed neither  artists,  nor  poets,  nor  philosophers  to  the 
golden  treasure-house  of  mind.  He  took  the  old  race  of  the 
Celts,  Cimry,  or  Cimmerians.  He  compared  the  Celt,  who,  as 
in  Wales,  the  Scotch  Highlands,  in  Bretagne,  and  in  uncom- 
prehended  Ireland,  retains  his  old  characteristics  and  purity  of 
breed,  with  the  Celt,  whose  blood,  mixed  by  a  thousand  chan- 
nels, dictates  from  Paris  the  manners  and  revolutions  of  the 


8i  THE   CAXTONS. 

world.  He  compared  the  Norman  in  his  ancient  Scandi- 
navian home,  with  that  wonder  of  intelligence  and  chivalry 
into  which  he  grew,  fused  imperceptibly  with  the  Frank,  the 
Goth,  and  the  Anglo-Saxon.  He  compared  the  Saxon,  sta- 
tionary in  the  land  of  Horsa,  with  the  colonist  and  civilizer  of 
the  globe,  as  he  becomes,  when  he  knows  not  through  what 
channels — French,  Flemish,  Danish,  Welch,  Scotch,  and  Irish — 
he  draws  his  sanguine  blood.  And  out  from  all  these  spec- 
ulations, to  which.  I  do  such  hurried  and  scanty  justice,  he 
drew  the  blessed  truth,  that  carries  hope  to  the  land  of  the 
Caffre,  the  hut  of  the  Bushman — that  there  is  nothing  in  the 
flattened  skull  and  the  ebon  aspect  that  rejects  God's  law — 
improvement ;  that  by  the  same  principle  which  raises  the  dog, 
the  lowest  of  the  animals  in  its  savage  state,  to  the  highest 
after  man,  viz.,  admixture  of  race,  you  can  elevate  into  nations 
of  majesty  and  power  the  outcasts  of  humanity,  now  your 
compassion  or  your  scorn.  But  when  my  father  got  into  the 
marrow  of  his  theme — when  quitting  these  preliminary  dis- 
cussions, he  fell  pounce  amongst  the  would-be  wisdom  of  the 
wise  ;  when  he  dealt  with  civilization  itself,  its  schools,  and 
porticos,  and  academies  ;  when  he  bared  the  absurdities 
couched  beneath  the  colleges  of  the  Egyptians,  and  the  Sym- 
posia of  the  Greeks  ;  when  he  showed  that,  even  in  their  own 
favorite  pursuit  of  metaphysics,  the  Greeks  were  children  ; 
and,  in  their  own  more  practical  region  of  politics,  the  Romans 
were  visionaries  and  bunglers  ;  when,  following  the  stream  of 
error  through  the  Middle  Ages,  he  quoted  the  puerilities  of 
Agrippa,  the  crudities  of  Cardan,  and  passed,  with  his  calm 
smile,  into  the  salons  of  the  chattering  wits  of  Paris  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  oh !  then  his  irony  was  that  of  Lucian, 
sweetened  by  the  gentle  spirit  of  Erasmus.  For  not  even 
here  was  my  father's  satire  of  the  cheerless  and  Mephistophe- 
lian  school.  From  this  record  of  error  he  drew  forth  the 
grand  eras  of  truth.  He  showed  how  earnest  men  never  think 
in  vain,  though  their  thoughts  may  be  errors.  He  proved  how, 
in  vast  cycles,  age  after  age,  the  human  mind  marches  on — 
like  the  ocean,  receding  here,  but  there  advancing.  How 
from  the  speculations  of  the  Greek  sprang  all  true  philosophy, 
how  from  the  institutions  of  the  Roman  rose  all  durable  sys- 
tems of  government  ;  how  from  the  robust  follies  of  the  north 
came  the  glory  of  chivalry,  and  the  modern  delicacies  of  honor, 
and  the  sweet  harmonizing  influences  of  woman.  Fie  tracked 
the  ancestry  of  our  Sidneys  and  Bayards  from  the  Hengists, 
Gcnserics,  and  Attilas.     Full  of  all  curious  and  quaint  anec* 


f  H£   CAXTONS.  8^ 

dote,  of  original  illustration,  of  those  niceties  of  learning  which 
spring  from  a  taste  cultivated  to  the  last  exquisite  polish — the 
book  amused,  and  allured,  and  charmed  ;  and  erudition  lost 
its  pedantry  now  in  the  simphcity  of  Montaigne,  now  in  the 
penetration  of  La  Bruyere.  He  lived  in  each  time  of  which 
he  wrote,  and  the  time  lived  again  in  him.  Ah  !  what  a  writer 
of  romances  he  would  have  been,  if — if  what  ?  If  he  had  had 
as  sad  an  experience  of  men's  passions,  as  he  had  the  happy 
intuition  into  their  humors.  But  he  who  would  see  the 
mirror  of  the  shore,  must  look  where  it  is  cast  on  the  river, 
not  the  ocean.  The  narrow  stream  reflects  the  gnarled  tree, 
and  the  pausing  herd,  and  the  village  spire,  and  the  romance 
of  the  landscape.  But  the  sea  reflects  only  the  vast  outline  of 
the  headland,  and  the  lights  of  the  eternal  heaven. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  It  is  Lombard  Street  to  a  China  orange,"  quoth  Uncle 
Jack. 

"  Are  the  odds  in  favor  of  fame  against  failure  so  great  ? 
You  do  not  speak,  I  fear,  from  experience,  Brother  Jack," 
answered  my  father,  as  he  stooped  down  to  tickle  the  duck 
under  the  left  ear. 

"  But  Jack  Tibbets  is  not  Augustine  Caxton.  Jack  Tibbets 
is  not  a  scholar,  a  genius,  a  wond — " 

"  Stop,"  cried  my  father. 

"After  all,"  said  Mr.  Squills,  "though  I  am  no  flatterer, 
Mr.  Tibbets  is  not  so  far  out.  That  part  of  your  book  which 
compares  the  crania  or  skulls  of  the  different  races  is  superb. 
Lawrence  or  Dr.  Prichard  could  not  have  done  the  thing  more 
neatly.  Such  a  book  must  not  be  lost  to  the  world  ;  and  I 
agree  with  Mr.  Tibbets  that  you  should  publish  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"  It  is  one  thing  to  write  and  another  to  publish,"  said  my 
father  irresolutely.  "  When  one  considers  all  the  great  men 
who  have  published  ;  when  one  thinks  one  is  going  to  intrude 
one's-self  audaciously  into  the  company  of  Aristotle  and  Bacon, 
of  Locke,  of  Herder — of  all  the  grave  philosophers  who  bend 
over  Nature  with  brows  weighty  with  thought — one  may  well 
pause,  and — " 

"  Pooh  !  "  interrupted  Uncle  Jack  ;  "  Science  is  not  a  club, 
it  is  an  ocean.  It  is  open  to  the  cockboat  as  the  frigate. 
One  man  carries  across  it  a  freightage  of  ingots,  another  may 


84  THE   CAXTONS. 

fish  there  for  herrings.  Who  can  exhaust  the  sea  ?  Who  say 
to  intellect,  *  the  deeps  of  philosophy  are  preoccupied  '  ?" 

"  Admirable  !  "  cried  Squills. 

"  So  it  is  really  your  advice,  my  friends,"  said  my  father, 
who  seemed  struck  by  Uncle  Jack's  eloquent  illustrations, 
"  that  I  should  desert  my  household  gods,  remove  to  London, 
since  my  own  library  ceases  to  supply  my  wants  ;  take  lodg- 
ings near  the  British  Museum,  and  finish  off  one  volume,  at 
least,  incontinently." 

"  It  is  a  duty  you  owe  to  your  country,"  said  Uncle  Jack 
solemnly. 

*•  And  to  yourself,"  urged  Squills.  "  One  must  attend  to 
the  natural  evacuations  of  the  brain.  Ah  !  you  may  smile, 
sir ;  but  I  have  observed  that  if  a  man  has  much  in  his  head, 
he  must  give  it  vent  or  it  oppresses  him  ;  the  whole  system 
goes  wrong.  From  being  abstracted,  he  grows  stupefied. 
The  weight  of  the  pressure  affects  the  nerves.  I  would  not 
even  guarantee  you  from  a  stroke  of  paralysis." 

*'  Oh,  Austin  ! "  cried  my  mother  tenderly,  and  throwing 
her  arms  round  my  father's  neck. 

"  Come,  sir,  you  are  conquered,"  said  I. 

"  And  what  is  to  become  of  you,  Sisty  ?  "  asked  my  father. 
"  Do  you  go  with  us,  and  unsettle  your  mind  for  the  uni- 
versity ? " 

"  My  uncle  has  invited  me  to  his  castle  ;  and  in  the  mean- 
while I  will  stay  here,  fag  hard,  and  take  care  of  the  duck." 

"  All  alone  ?  "  said  my  mother. 

"  No.  All  alone  !  Why,  Uncle  Jack  will  come  here  as  often 
as  ever,  I  hope." 

Uncle  Jack  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  my  boy  ;  I  must  go  to  town  with  your  father.  You 
don't  understand  these  things.  I  shall  see  the  booksellers  for 
him.  I  know  how  these  gentlemen  are  to  be  dealt  with.  I 
shall  prepare  the  literary  circles  for  the  appearance  of  the 
book.  In  short  it  is  a  sacrifice  of  interest,  I  know.  My  Jour- 
nal will  suffer.  But  friendship  and  my  country's  good  before 
all  things." 

"  Dear  Jack  !  "  said  my  mother  affectionately. 

"  I  cannot  suffer  it,"  cried  my  father.  "  You  are  making  a 
good  income.  You  are  doing  well  where  you  are  ;  and  as  to 
seeing  the  booksellers — why,  when  the  work  is  ready,  you  can 
come  to  town  for  a  week,  and  settle  that  affair." 

"  Poor,  dear  Austin,"  said  Uncle  Jack,  with  an  air  of  supe- 
riority and  compassion.     "  A  week  !     Sir,  the  advent  of  a  book 


THE   CAXTONS.  85 

that  is  to  succeed  requirles  the  preparation  of  months. 
Pshaw  !  I  am  no  genius,  but  I  am  a  practical  man.  I  know 
what's  what.     Leave  me  alone." 

But  my  father  continued  obstinate,  and  Uncle  Jack  at  last 
ceased  to  urge  the  matter.  The  journey  to  fame  and  London 
was  now  settled  ;  but  my  father  would  not  hear  of  my  staying 
behind. 

No  ;  Pisistratus  must  needs  go  also  to  town  and  see  the 
world  ;  the  duck  would  take  care  of  itself. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

We  had  taken  the  precaution  to  send  the  day  before  to 
secure  our  due  complement  of  places — four  in  all  (including 
one  for  Mrs.  Primmins) — in,  or  upon,  the  fast  family  coach 
called  the  Sun,  w^hich  had  lately  been  set  up  for  the  special 
convenience  of  the  neighborhood. 

This  luminary,  rising  in  a  town  about  seven  miles  distant 
from  us,  described  at  first  a  very  erratic  orbit  amidst  the  con- 
tiguous villages,  before  it  finally  struck  into  the  high-road  of 
enlightenment,  and  thence  performed  its  journey,  in  the  full 
eyes  of  man,  at  the  majestic  pace  of  six  miles  and  a  half  an 
hour.  My  father,  with  his  pockets  full  of  books,  and  a  quarto 
of  "Gebelin  on  the  Primitive  World  "  for  light  reading  under 
his  arm  ;  my  mother  with  a  little  basket,  containing  sandwiches, 
and  biscuits  of  her  own  baking  ;  Mrs.  Primmins,  with  a  new 
umbrella,  purchased  for  the  occasion,  and  a  birdcage  contain- 
ing a  canar}^,  endeared  to  her  not  more  by  song  than  age,  and 
a  severe  pip  through  which  she  had  successfully  nursed  it,  and 
I  myself,  waited  at  the  gates  to  welcome  the  celestial  visitor. 
The  gardener,  with  a  wheelbarrow  full  of  boxes  and  portman- 
teaus, stood  a  little  in  the  van  ;  and  the  footman,  who  was  to 
follow  when  lodgings  had  been  found,  had  gone  to  a  rising 
eminence  to  watch  the  dawning  of  the  expected  Sun,  and  ap- 
prise us  of  its  approach  by  the  concerted  signal  of  a  handker- 
chief fixed  to  a  stick. 

The  quaint  old  house  looked  at  us  mournfully  from  all  its 
deserted  windows.  The  litter  before  its  threshhold,  and  in  its 
open  hall ;  wisps  of  straw  or  hay  that  had  been  used  for  pack- 
ing ;  baskets  and  boxes  that  had  been  examined  and  rejected  ; 
others,  corded  and  piled,  reserved  to  follow  with  the  footman, 
and  the  two  heated  and  hurried  serving-women  left  behind 
standing  half-way  between  house  and  garden-gate,  whispering 


«b  THE    CAXTONS. 

to  each  other,  and  looking  as  if  they  had  not  slept  for  weeks- 
gave  to  a  scene,  usually  so  trim  and  orderly,  an  aspect  of 
pathetic  abandonment  and  desolation.  The  Genius  of  the 
place  seemed  to  reproach  us.  I  felt  the  omens  were  against 
us,  and  turned  my  earnest  gaze  from  the  haunts  behind  with  a 
sigh,  as  the  coach  now  drew  up  "ith  all  its  grandeur.  An 
important  personage,  who,  despite  the  heat  of  the  day,  was 
enveloped  in  a  vast  superfluity  of  belcher,  in  the  midst  of  which 
galloped  a  gilt  fox,  and  who  rejoiced  in  the  name  of  "  guard," 
descended  to  inform  us  politely,  that  only  three  places,  two 
inside  and  one  out,  were  at  our  disposal,  the  rest  having  been 
pre-engaged  a  fortnight  before  our  orders  were  received. 

Now,  as  I  knew  that  Mrs.  Primmins  was  indispensable  to 
the  comforts  of  my  honored  parents  (the  more  so,  as  she  had 
once  lived  in  London,  and  knew  all  its  ways),  I  suggested  that 
she  should  take  the  outside  seat,  and  that  I  should  perform 
the  journey  on  foot — a  primitive  mode  of  transport,  which  has 
its  charms  to  a  young  man  with  stout  limbs  and  gay  spirits. 
The  guard's  outstretched  arm  left  my  mother  little  time  to 
oppose  this  proposition,  to  which  my  father  assented  with  a 
silent  squeeze  of  the  hand.  And,  having  promised  to  join 
them  at  a  family  hotel  near  the  Strand,  to  which  Mr.  Squills 
had  recommended  them  as  peculiarly  genteel  and  quiet,  and 
waved  my  last  farewell  to  my  poor  mother,  who  continued  to 
stretch  her  meek  face  out  of  the  window  till  the  coach  was 
whirled  off  in  a  cloud  like  one  of  the  Homeric  heroes,  I 
turned  within,  to  put  up  a  few  necessary  articles  in  a  small 
knapsack,  which  I  remembered  to  have  seen  in  the  lumber- 
room,  and  which  had  appertained  to  my  maternal  grandfather  ; 
and  with  that  on  my  shoulder,  and  a  strong  staff  in  my  hand, 
1  set  off  towards  the  great  city  at  as  brisk  a  pace  as  if  I  were 
only  bound  to  the  next  village.  Accordingly,  about  noon  I 
was  both  tired  and  hungry  ;  and  seeing  by  the  wayside  one  of 
those  pretty  inns  yet  peculiar  to  England,  but  which,  thanks 
to  the  railways,  will  soon  be  amongst  the  things  before  the 
Flood,  I  sat  down  at  a  table  under  some  clipped  limes, 
unbuckled  my  knapsack,  and  ordered  my  simple  fare,  with  the 
dignity  of  one  who,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  bespeaks  his 
own  dinner,  and  pays  for  it  out  of  his  own  pocket. 

While  engaged  on  a  rasher  of  bacon  and  a  tankard  of  what 
the  landlord  called  "  No  mistake,"  two  pedestrians,  passing 
the  same  road  which  I  had  traversed,  paused,  cast  a  simulta- 
neous look  at  my  occupation,  and,  induced  no  doubt  by  its 
allurements,  seated   themselves   under  the  same   lime-trees, 


THE   CAXTONS.  87 

though  at  the  farther  end  of  the  table.     I  surveyed  the  new- 
comers with  the  curiosity  natural  to  my  years. 

The  elder  of  the  two  might  have  attained  the  age  of  thirty, 
though  sundry  deep  lines,  and  hues  formerly  florid  and  now 
faded,  speaking  of  fatigue,  care,  or  dissipation,  might  have 
made  him  look  somewhat  older  than  he  was.  There  was 
nothing  very  prepossessing  in  his  appearance.  He  was  dressed 
with  a  pretension  ill  suited  to  the  costume  appropriate  to  a 
foot-traveller.  His  coat  was  pinched  and  padded;  two  enor- 
mous pins,  connected  by  a  chain,  decorated  a  very  stiff  stock  of 
blue  satin,  dotted  with  yellow  stars ;  his  hands  were  cased  in 
very  dingy  gloves,  which  had  once  been  straw-colored,  and  the 
said  hands  played  with  a  whalebone  cane  surmounted  by  a 
formidable  knob,  which  gave  it  the  appearance  of  a  "  life-pre- 
server." As  he  took  off  a  white,  napless  hat,  which  he  wiped 
with  great  care  and  affection  with  the  sleeve  of  his  right  arm, 
a  profusion  of  stiff  curls  instantly  betrayed  the  art  of  man.  Like 
my  landlord's  ale,  in  that  wig  there  was  "  no  mistake  "  !  it  was 
brought  (after  the  fashion  of  the  wigs  we  see  in  the  popular 
effigies  of  George  IV.  in  his  youth)  low  over  his  forehead  and 
was  raised  at  the  top.  The  wig  had  been  oiled,  and  the  oil 
had  imbibed  no  small  quantity  of  dust ;  oil  and  dust  had  alike 
left  their  impression  on  the  forehead  and  cheeks  of  the  wig's 
proprietor.  For  the  rest,  the  expression  of  his  face  was  some- 
what impudent  and  reckless,  but  not  without  a  certain  drollery 
in  the  corners  of  his  eyes. 

The  younger  man  was  apparently  about  my  own  age,  a  year 
or  two  older,  perhaps,  judging  rather  from  his  set  and  sinewy 
frame  than  his  boyish  countenance.  And  this  last,  boyish  as 
it  was,  could  not  fail  to  demand  the  attention  even  of  the  most 
careless  observer.  It  had  not  only  the  darkness,  but  the 
character  of  the  gypsy  face,  with  large,  brilliant  eyes,  raven 
hair,  long  and  wavy,  but  not  curling ;  the  features  were  aqui- 
line, but  delicate,  and  when  he  spoke  he  showed  teeth  dazzling 
as  pearls.  It  was  impossible  not  to  admire  the  singular  beauty 
of  the  countenance  ;  and  yet  it  had  that  expression  at  once 
stealthy  and  fierce,  which  war  with  society  has  stamped  upon 
the  lineaments  of  the  race  of  which  it  reminded  me.  But, 
withal,  there  was  somewhat  of  the  air  of  a  gentleman  in  this 
young  wayfarer.  His  dress  consisted  of  a  black  velveteen 
shooting-jacket,  or  rather  short  frock,  with  a  broad  leathern 
strap  at  the  waist,  loose  white  trousers,  and  a  foraging  cap, 
which  he  threw  carelessly  on  the  table  as  he  wiped  his  brow. 
Turning  round  impatiently,  and  with  some  haughtiness,  from 


SS  THE    CAXTONS. 

his  companion,  he  surveyed  me  with  a  quick,  observant  flash 
of  his  piercing  eyes,  and  then  stretched  himself  at  length  on 
the  bench,  and  appeared  either  to  doze  or  muse,  till,  in  obedi- 
ence to  his  companion's  orders,  the  board  was  spread  with  all 
the  cold  meats  the  larder  could  supply. 

"Beef!"  said  his  companion,  screwing  a  pinchbeck  glass 
into  his  right  eye.  "  Beef — mottled,  cowey — humph.  Lamb — 
oldish — rawish — muttony — humph.  Pie — stalish.  Veal  ? — no, 
pork.     Ah  !  what  will  you  have  ?" 

"  Help  yourself,"  replied  the  young  man  peevishly  as  he  sat 
up,  looked  disdainfully  at  the  viands,  and,  after  a  long  pause, 
tasted  first  one,  then  the  other,  with  many  shrugs  of  the  shoul- 
ders and  muttered  exclamations  of  discontent.  Suddenly  he 
looked  up  and  called  for  brandy  ;  and,  to  my  surprise,  and  I 
fear  admiration,  he  drank  nearly  half  a  tumblerful  of  that 
poison  undiluted,  with  a  composure  that  spoke  of  habitual 
use. 

"  Wrong  !  "  said  his  companion,  drawing  the  bottle  to  him- 
self, and  mixing  the  alcohol  in  careful  proportions  with  water, 
"  Wrong  !  coats  of  stomach  soon  wear  out  with  that  kind  of 
clothes-brush.  Better  stick  to  the  'yeasty  foam,'  as  sweet  Will 
says.  That  young  gentleman  sets  you  a  good  example,"  and 
therewith  the  speaker  nodded  at  me  familiarly.  Inexperienced 
as  I  was,  I  surmised  at  once  that  it  was  his  intention  to  make 
acquaintance  with  the  neighbor  thus  saluted.  I  was  not  de- 
ceived. **  Anything  to  tempt  jw/,  sir  ?"  asked  this  social  per- 
sonage after  a  short  pause,  and  describing  a  semicircle  with 
the  point  of  his  knife. 

"  1  thank  you,  sir,  but  I  have  dined." 

"  What  then  ?  '  Break  out  into  a  second  course  of  mischief,' 
as  the  swan  recommends — swan  of  Avon,  sir  !  No  ?  '  Well, 
then,  I  charge  you  with  this  cup  of  sack.'  Are  you  going  far, 
if  I  may  take  the  liberty  to  ask  ? " 

"  To  London." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  traveller,  while  his  young  companion  lifted 
his  eyes  ;  and  I  was  again  struck  with  their  remarkable  pene- 
tration and  brilliancy. 

"  London  is  the  best  place  in  the  world  for  a  lad  of  spirit. 
See  life  there  ;  '  glass  of  fashion  and  mould  of  form.'  Fond 
of  the  play,  sir?" 

"I  never  saw  one." 

"  Possible  !  "  cried  the  gentleman,  dropping  the  handle  of 
his  knife,  and  bringing  up  the  point  horizontally  :  then,  young 
man,"  he  added  solemnly,  "  you  have — but  I  wont  say  what 


THE   CAXTONS.  89 

you  have  to  see.  I  wont  say — no,  not  if  you  could  cover  this 
table  with  golden  guineas,  and  exclaim  with  the  generous  ardor 
so  engaging  in  youth,  '  Mr.  Peacock,  these  are  yours,  if  you 
will  only  say  what  I  have  to  see  ! '  " 

I  laughed  outright — may  I  be  forgiven  for  the  boast,  but  I 
had  the  reputation  at  school  of  a  pleasant  laugh.  The  young 
man's  face  grew  dark  at  the  sound  :  he  pushed  back  his  plate 
and  sighed. 

"  Why,"  continued  his  friend,  "  my  companion  here,  who,  I 
suppose,  is  about  your  own  age,  he  could  tell  you  what  a  play 
is  !  He  could  tell  you  what  life  is.  He  has  viewed  the  man- 
ners of  the  town  :  *  perused  the  traders,'  as  the  swan  poetically 
remarks.     Have  you  not,  my  lad,  eh  ?" 

Thus  directly  appealed  to,  the  boy  looked  up  with  a  smile 
of  scorn  on  his  lips  : 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  life  is,  and  I  say  that  life,  like  poverty, 
has  strange  bed-fellows.  Ask  me  what  life  is  now,  and  I  say 
a  melodrama  ;  ask  me  what  it  is  twenty  years  hence,  and  I 
shall  say — " 

"  A  farce  ? "  put  in  his  comrade. 

"  No,  a  tragedy — or  comedy  as  Moliere  wrote  it." 

"  And  how  is  that  ?  "  I  asked,  interested  and  somewhat  sur- 
prised at  the  tone  of  my  contemporary. 

"  Where  the  play  ends  in  the  triumph  of  the  wittiest  rogue. 
My  friend  here  has  no  chance  !  " 

"  *  Praise  from  Sir  Hubert  Stanley,'  hem — yes,  Hal  Peacock 
may  be  witty,  but  he  is  no  rogue." 

"  That  was  not  exactly  my  meaning,"  said  the  boy  drily. 

"*  A  fico  for  your  meaning,'  as  the  swan  says.  Hallo,  you, 
sir  !  Bully  Host,  clear  the  table,  fresh  tumblers — hot  water — • 
sugar — lemon, — and — the  bottle's  out  !  Smoke,  sir  ?  "  and 
Mr.  Peacock  offered  me  a  cigar. 

Upon  my  refusal,  he  carefully  twirled  round  a  very  uninvit- 
ing specimen  of  some  fabulous  havanna,  moistened  it  all  over, 
as  a  boa-constrictor  may  do  the  ox  he  prepares  for  degluti- 
tion ;  bit  off  one  end,  and  lighting  the  other  from  a  little  ma- 
chine for  that  purpose  which  he  drew  from  his  pocket,  he  was 
soon  absorbed  in  a  vigorous  effort  (which  the  damp  inherent  in 
the  weed  long  resisted)  to  poison  the  surrounding  atmosphere. 
Therewith  the  young  gentleman,  either  from  emulation  or 
in  self-defence,  extracted  from  his  own  pouch  a  cigar-case 
of  notable  elegance,  being  of  velvet,  embroidered  appa- 
rently by  some  fair  hand,  for  "  From  Juliet "  was  very  legibly 
worked  thereon ;  selected  a  cigar  of  better  appearance  than 


go  THE    CAXTONS. 

that  in  favor  with  his  comrade,  and  seemed  quite  as  familiar 
with  the  tobacco  as  he  had  been  with  the  brandy. 

"Fast,  sir — fast  lad  that  !  "  quoth  Mr.  Peacock,  in  the  short 
gasps  which  his  resolute  struggle  with  his  uninviting  victim 
alone  permitted — "nothing  but — (puff,  puff) — your  true — 
(suck,  suck) — syl — syl — sylva — does  for  him.  Out,  by  the 
Lord!  'the  jaws  of  darkness  have  devoured  it  up'";  and 
again  Mr.  Peacock  applied  to  his  phosphoric  machine.  This 
time  patience  and  perseverance  succeeded,  and  the  heart  of 
the  cigar  responded  by  a  dull,  red  spark  (leaving  the  sides 
wholly  untouched)  to  the  indefatigable  ardor  of  its  wooer. 

This  feat  accomplished,  Mr.  Peacock  exclaimed  triumph- 
antly :  "And  now,  what  say  you,  my  lads,  to  a  game  at  cards  ? 
Three  of  us — whist  and  a  dummy — nothing  better — eh  ?  "  As 
he  spoke  he  produced  from  his  coat  pocket  a  red  silk  hand- 
kerchief, a  bunch  of  keys,  a  nightcap,  a  toothbrush,  a  piece  of 
shaving-soap,  four  lumps  of  sugar,  the  remains  of  a  bun,  a 
razor,  and  a  pack  of  cards.  Selecting  the  last,  and  returning 
its  motley  accompaniments  to  the  abyss  whence  they  had 
emerged,  he  turned  up,  with  a  jerk  of  his  thumb  and  finger, 
the  knave  of  clubs,  and  placing  it  on  the  top  of  the  rest, 
slapped  the  cards  emphatically  on  the  table. 

"  You  are  very  good,  but  I  don't  know  whist,"  said  I. 

"  Not  know  whist — not  been  to  a  play — not  smoke  !  Then 
pray  tell  me,  young  man  (said  he  majestically,  and  with  a 
frown),  what  on  earth  you  do  know  !  " 

Much  consternated  by  this  direct  appeal,  and  greatly 
ashamed  of  my  ignorance  of  the  cardinal  points  of  erudition 
in  Mr.  Peacock's  estimation,  1  hung  my  head  and  looked 
down. 

"  That  is  right,"  renewed  Mr.  Peacock  more  benignly  ; 
"  you  have  the  ingenuous  shame  of  youth.  It  is  promising, 
sir — *  lowliness  is  young  ambition's  ladder,'  as  the  swan  saj^s. 
Mount  the  first  step,  and  learn  whist — sixpenny  points  to 
begin  with." 

Notwithstanding  any  newness  in  actual  life,  I  had  had  the 
good  fortune  to  learn  a  little  of  the  way  before  me,  by  those 
much-slandered  guides  called  novels — works  which  are  often 
to  the  inner  world  what  maps  are  to  the  outer  ;  and  sundry 
recollections  of  "  Gil  Bias  "  and  the  "  Vicar  of  Wakefield  " 
came  athwart  me.  I  had  no  wish  to  emulate  the  worthy  Moses, 
and  felt  that  I  might  not  have  even  the  shagreen  spectacles  to 
boast  of,  in  my  negotiations  with  this  new  Mr.  Jenkinson, 
Accordingly,  shaking  my  head,  I  called  for  my  bill.     As  I  took 


THE    CAXTONS.  9I 

out  my  purse — knit  by  my  mother — with  one  gold  piece  in  one 
corner,  and  sundry  silver  ones  in  the  other,  I  saw  that  the 
eyes  of  Mr.  Peacock  twinkled. 

"  Poor  spirit,  sir  !  poor  spirit,  young  man  !  *  This  avarice 
sticks  deep,'  as  the  swan  beautifully  observes.  '  Nothing  ven- 
ture, nothing  have.'  " 

"  Nothing  have,  nothing  venture,"  I  returned,  plucking  up 
spirit. 

"  Nothing  have  !  Young  sir,  do  you  doubt  my  solidity — 
my  capital — my  '  golden  joys  '  ?  " 

"  Sir,  I  spoke  of  myself.     I  am  not  rich  enough  to  gamble." 

"Gamble!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Peacock,  in  virtuous  indigna- 
tion— *'  Gamble,  what  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  You  insult  me  !  " 
and  he  rose  threateningly,  and  slapped  his  white  hat  on  his 
wig. 

"  Pshaw  !  let  him  alone,  Hal,"  said  the  boy  contemptuously. 
"  Sir,  if  he  is  impertinent,  thrash  him."     (This  was  to  me.) 

*'  Impertinent  ! — thrash  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Peacock,  waxing 
very  red  ;  but  catching  the  sneer  on  his  companion's  lip,  he 
sat  down,  and  subsided  into  sullen  silence. 

Meanwhile  I  paid  my  bill.  This  duty,  rarely  a  cheerful 
one,  performed,  I  looked  round  for  my  knapsack,  and  per- 
ceived that  it  was  in  the  boy's  hands.  He  was  very  coolly 
reading  the  address  which,  in  case  of  accidents,  I  prudently 

placed    on   it — "  Pisistratus   Caxton,   Esq.,  Hotel,  • 

Street,  Strand." 

I  took  my  knapsack  from  him,  more  surprised  at  such  a 
breach  of  good  manners  in  a  young  gentleman  who  knew  life 
so  well,  than  I  should  have  been  at  a  similar  error  on  the  part 
of  Mr.  Peacock.  He  made  no  apology,  but  nodded  farewell, 
and  stretched  himself  at  full  length  on  the  bench.  Mr.  Pea- 
cock, now  absorbed  in  a  game  of  patience,  vouchsafed  no 
return  to  my  parting  salutation,  and  in  another  moment  I  was 
alone  on  the  highroad.  My  thoughts  turned  long  upon  the 
young  man  I  had  left :  mixed  with  a  sort  of  instinctive  com- 
passionate foreboding  of  an  ill  future  for  one  with  such  habits, 
and  in  such  companionship,  I  felt  an  involuntary  admiration, 
less  even  for  his  good  looks  than  his  ease,  audacity,  and  the 
careless  superiority  he  assumed  over  a  comrade  so  much  older 
than  himself. 

The  day  was  far  gone  when  I  saw  the  spires  of  a  town  at 
which  I  intended  to  rest  for  the  night.  The  horn  of  a  coach 
behind  made  me  turn  my  head,  and,  as  the  vehicle  passed  me, 
I  saw  on  the  outside   Mr.   Peacock,  still   struggling  with  a 


92  THE    CAXTONS. 

cigar — it  could  scarcely  be  the  same — and  his  young  friend 
stretched  on  the  roof  amongst  the  luggage,  leaning  his  hand- 
some head  on  his  hand,  and  apparently  unobservant  both  of 
me  and  every  one  else. 


CHAPTER  V. 

I  AM  apt — judging  egotistically  perhaps,  from  my  own 
experience — to  measure  a  young  man's  chance  of  what  is 
termed  practical  success  in  life,  by  what  may  seem  at  first  two 
very  vulgar  qualities ;  viz.,  his  inquisitiveness  and  his  animal 
vivacity.  A  curiosity  which  springs  forward  to  examine  every- 
thing new  to  his  information  ;  a  nervous  activity,  approaching 
to  restlessness,  which  rarely  allows  bodily  fatigue  to  interfere 
with  some  object  in  view,  constitute,  in  my  mind,  very  profit- 
able stock  in  hand  to  begin  the  world  with. 

Tired  as  I  was,  after  I  had  performed  my  ablutions,  and 
refreshed  myself  in  the  little  coffee-room  of  the  inn  at  which 
I  put  up,  with  the  pedestrian's  best  beverage,  familiar  and  oft- 
calumniated  tea,  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  the  broad, 
bustling  street,  which,  lighted  with  gas,  shone  on  me  through 
the  dim  windows  of  the  coffee-room.  I  had  never  before  seen 
a  large  town,  and  the  contrast  of  lamplit,  busy  night  in  the 
streets,  with  sober,  deserted  night  in  the  lanes  and  fields, 
struck  me  forcibly. 

I  sauntered  out,  therefore,  jostling  and  jostled,  now  gazing 
at  the  windows,  now  hurried  along  the  tide  of  life,  till  I  found 
myself  before  a  cook-shop,  round  which  clustered  a  small  knot 
of  housewives,  citizens,  and  hungry-looking  children.  While 
contemplating  this  group,  and  marvelling  how  it  comes  to  pass 
that  the  staple  business  of  earth's  majority  is  how,  when,  and 
where  to  eat,  my  ear  was  struck  with  "*In  Troy  there  lies  the 
scene,'  as  the  illustrious  Will  remarks." 

Looking  round,  I  perceived  Mr.  Peacock  pointing  his  stick 
towards  an  open  doorway  next  to  the  cook-shop,  the  hall 
beyond  which  was  lighted  with  gas,  while,  painted  in  black 
letters  on  a  pane  of  glass  over  the  door,  was  the  word  "  Bil- 
liards." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  the  speaker  plunged  at  once 
into  the  aperture  and  vanished.  The  boy  companion  was  fol- 
lowing more  slowly,  when  his  eye  caught  mine.  A  slight 
blush  came  over  his  dark  cheek  ;  he  stopped,  and  leaning 
against  the  door-jambs,  gazed  on  me  hard  and  long  before  he 


THE    CAXTONS.  93 

said  :  "Well  met  again,  sir  !  You  find  it  hard  to  amuse  your- 
self in  this  dull  place  ;  the  nights  are  long  out  of  London." 

"  Oh,"  said  I  ingenuously,  "  everything  here  amuses  me  ; 
the  lights,  the  shops,  the  crowd ;  but,  then,  to  me  everything 
is  new." 

The  youth  came  from  his  lounging-place  and  moved  on,  as 
if  inviting  me  to  walk ;  while  he  answered,  rather  with  bitter 
sullenness,  than  the  melancholy  his  words  expressed  : 

"  One  thing,  at  least,  cannot  be  new  to  you  ;  it  is  an  old 
truth  with  us  before  we  leave  the  nursery  :  '  Whatever  is  worth 
having  must  be  bought ;  ei'go^  he  who  cannot  buy,  has  nothing 
worth  having.' " 

"I  don't  think,"  said  I  wisely,  "that  the  things  best  worth 
having  can  be  bought  at  all.  You  see  that  poor  dropsical 
jeweller  standing  before  his  shop-door — his  shop  is  the  finest 
in  the  street,  and  I  dare  say  he  would  be  very  glad  to  give  it  to 
you  or  me  in  return  for  our  good  health  and  strong  legs.  Oh 
no  !  I  think  with  my  father  :  *  All  that  are  worth  having  are 
given  to  all  ;  that  is,  nature  and  labor.'  " 

"Your  father  says  that;  and  you  go  by  what  your  father 
says  !  Of  course,  all  fathers  have  preached  that,  and  many 
other  good  doctrines,  since  Adam  preached  to  Cain  ;  but  I 
don't  see  that  the  fathers  have  found  their  sons  very  credulous 
listeners." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  the  sons,"  said  I  bluntly. 

"  Nature,"  continued  my  new  acquaintance,  without  attend- 
ing to  my  ejaculation — "  nature  indeed  does  give  us  much, 
and  nature  also  orders  each  of  us  how  to  use  her  gifts.  If 
nature  give  you  the  propensity  to  drudge,  you  will  drudge  ;  if 
she  give  me  the  ambition  to  rise,  and  the  contempt  for  work, 
I  may  rise,  but  I  certainly  shall  not  work." 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  "you  agree  with  Squills,  I  suppose,  and  fancy 
we  are  all  guided  by  the  bumps  on  our  foreheads  ?" 

"And  the  blood  in  our  vein.s,  and  our  mother's  milk.  We 
inherit  other  things  besides  gout  and  consumption.  So  you 
always  do  as  your  father  tells  you  !     Good  boy  !  " 

I  was  piqued.  Why  we  should  be  ashamed  of  being  taunted 
for  goodness,  I  never  could  understand  ;  but  certainly  I  felt 
humbled.  However,  I  answered  sturdily  :  "  If  you  had  as 
good  a  father  as  I  have,  you  would  not  think  it  so  very  extra- 
ordinary to  do  as  he  tells  you." 

"  Ah  I  so  he  is  a  very  good  father,  is  he?  He  must  have  a 
great  trust  in  your  sobriety  and  steadiness  to  let  you  wander 
about  the  world  as  he  does." 


94  THE    CAXTONS. 

"  I  am  going  to  join  him  in  London." 

"  In  London  !     Oh,  does  he  live  there  ? " 

"  He  is  going  to  live  there  for  some  time." 
.    "  Then,  perhaps,  we  may  meet.     I,  too,  am  going  to  town.** 

"  Oh,  we  shall  be  sure  to  meet  there  !  "  said  I,  with  frank 
gladness  ;  for  my  interest  in  the  young  man  was  not  diminished 
by  his  conversation,  however  much  I  disliked  the  sentiments 
it  expressed. 

The  lad  laughed,  and  his  laugh  was  peculiar.  It  was  low, 
musical,  but  hollow  and  artificial. 

"  Sure  to  meet  !  London  is  a  large  place  :  where  shall  you 
be  found  ? " 

I  gave  him,  without  scruple,  the  address  of  the  hotel  at 
which  I  expected  to  find  my  father  ;  although  his  deliberate 
inspection  of  my  knapsack  must  already  have  apprised  him  of 
that  address.  He  listened  attentively,  and  repeated  it  twice 
over,  as  if  to  impress  it  on  his  memory  ;  and  we  both  walked 
on  in  silence,  till,  turning  up  a  small  passage,  we  suddenly 
found  ourselves  in  a  large  churchyard — a  flagged  path 
stretched  diagonally  across  it  towards  the  market-place,  on 
which  it  bordered.  In  this  churchyard,  upon  a  gravestone, 
sat  a  young  Savoyard  ;  his  hurdy-gurdy,  or  whatever  else  his 
instrument  might  be  called,  was  on  his  lap  ;  and  he  was  gnaw- 
ing his  crust,  and  feeding  some  poor  little  white  mice  (stand- 
ing on  their  hind-legs  on  the  hurdy-gurdy)  as  merrily  as  if  he 
had  chosen  the  gayest  resting-place  in  the  world. 

We  both  stopped.  The  Savoyard,  seeing  us,  put  his  arch 
head  on  one  side,  showed  all  his  white  teeth  in  that  happy 
smile  so  peculiar  to  his  race,  and  in  which  poverty  seems  to 
beg  so  blithely,  and  gave  the  handle  of  his  instrument  a  turn. 

"  Poor  child  !  "  said  I. 

"  Aha,  you  pity  him  !  but  why  ?  According  to  your  rule, 
Mr.  Caxton,  he  is  not  so  much  to  be  pitied  ;  the  dropsical 
jeweller  would  give  him  as  much  for  his  limbs  and  health  as  for 
ours  !  How  is  it — answer  me,  son  of  so  wise  a  father — that  no 
one  pities  the  dropsical  jeweller,  and  all  pity  the  healthy  Savoy- 
ard ?  It  is,  sir,  because  there  is  a  stern  truth  which  is 
stronger  than  all  Spartan  lessons — Poverty  is  the  master-ill  of 
the  world.  Look  round.  Does  poverty  leave  its  signs  over 
the  graves  ?  Look  at  that  large  tomb  fenced  round;  read  that 
long  inscription  :  '  Virtue' — '  best  of  husbands  ' — '  affectionate 
father ' — '  inconsolable  grief  — '  sleeps  in  the  joyful  hope,'  etc., 
etc.  Do  you  suppose  these  stoneless  mounds  hide  no  dust  of 
what  were  men  just  as  good  ?     But  no   epitaph  tells  their 


THE    CAXTONS.  95 

virtues  ;  bespeaks  their  wives*  grief  ;  or  promises  joyful  hope 
to  them  !  " 

"  Does  it  matter  ?  Does  God  care  for  the  epitaph  and 
tombstone  ?" 

^^  Datemi  qualche  cosa  !"  ssi\6.  the  Savoyard,  in  his  touching 
patois,  still  smiling,  and  holding  out  his  little  hand  ;  therein  1 
dropped  a  small  coin.  The  boy  evinced  his  gratitude  by  a 
new  turn  of  the  hurdy-gurdy. 

"  That  is  not  labor,"  said  my  companion  ;  "  and  had  you 
found  him  at  work,  you  had  given  him  nothing.  I  too  have 
my  instrument  to  play  upon,  and  my  mice  to  see  after. 
Adieu!" 

He  waved  his  hand,  and  strode  irreverently  over  the  graves 
back  in  the  direction  we  had  come. 

I  stood  before  the  fine  tomb  with  its  fine  epitaph  ;  the  Savoy- 
ard looked  at  me  wistfully. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Savoyard  looked  at  me  wistfully.  I  wished  to  enter 
into  conversation  with  him.  That  was  not  easy.  However, 
I  began  : 

PisiSTRATUS. — "You  must  be  often  hungry  enough,  my 
poor  boy.     Do  the  mice  feed  you  ?  " 

Savoyard  puts  his  head  one  side,  shakes  it,  and  strokes  his 
mice. 

PisiSTRATUS. — "  You  are  very  fond  of  the  mice  ;  they  are 
your  only  friends,  I  fear." 

Savoyard,  evidently  understanding  Pisistratus,  rubs  his 
face  gently  against  the  mice,  then  puts  them  softly  down  on  a 
grave,  and  gives  a  turn  to  the  hurdy-gurdy.  The  mice  play 
unconcernedly  over  the  grave. 

PisiSTRATUS,  pointing  first  to  the  beasts,  then  to  the  instru- 
ment.— "  Which  do  you  like  best,  the  mice  or  the  hurdy- 
gurdy  ? " 

Savoyard  shows  his  teeth — considers — stretches  himself  on 
the  grass — plays  with  the  mice — and  answers  volubly. 

PisiSTRATUS,  by  the  help  of  Latin  comprehending  that  the 
Savoyard  says  that  the  mice  are  alive,  and  the  hurdy-gurdy  is 
not.  "  Yes,  a  live  friend  is  better  than  a  dead  one.  Mortua 
est  hurda-gurda  !" 

Savoyard  shakes  his  head  vehemently. — "  No — no  !  Eccel- 
letiza,  non  e  morta  !  "  and  strikes  up  a  lively  air  on  the  slan' 


96  THE    CAXTONS. 

dered  instrument.  The  Savoyard's  face  brightens — he  looks 
happy  :  the  mice  run  from  the  grave  into  his  bosom. 

PisisTRATUs,  affected,  and  putting  the  question  in  Latin. — 
**  Have  you  a  father  ?  " 

Savoyard,  with  his  face  overcast. — "  No — Eccellenza  !  " 
Then  pausing  a  little,  he  says  briskly,  **  Si  si !  "  and  plays  a 
solemn  air  on  the  hurdy-gurdy — stops — rests  one  hand  on  the 
instrument,  and  raises  the  other  to  heaven. 

PisiSTRATUS  understands. — The  father  is  like  the  hurdy- 
gurdy,  at  once  dead  and  living.  The  mere  form  is  a  dead 
thing,  but  the  music  lives.  Pisistratus  drops  another  small 
piece  of  silver  on  the  ground,  and  turns  away. 

God  help  and  God  bless  thee,  Savoyard.  Thou  hast  done 
Pisistratus  all  the  good  in  the  world.  Thou  hast  corrected  the 
hard  wisdom  of  the  young  gentleman  in  the  velveteen  jacket ; 
Pisistratus  is  a  better  lad  for  having  stopped  to  listen  to  thee. 

I  regained  the  entrance  to  the  churchyard — I  looked  back — 
there  sat  the  Savoyard,  still  amidst  men's  graves,  but  under 
God's  sky.  He  was  still  looking  at  me  wistfully  ;  and  when  he 
caught  my  eye,  he  pressed  his  hand  to  his  heart,  and  smiled. 
God  help  and  God  bless  thee,  young  Savoyard  ! 


PART  FIFTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

In  setting  off  the  next  morning,  the  Boots,  whose  heart  I 
had  won  by  an  extra  sixpence  for  calling  me  betimes,  good- 
naturedly  informed  me  that  I  might  save  a  mile  of  the  journey, 
and  have  a  very  pleasant  walk  into  the  bargain,  if  1  took  the 
footpath  through  a  gentleman's  park,  the  lodge  of  which  I 
should  see  about  seven  miles  from  the  town. 

"And  the  grounds  are  showed  too,"  said  the  Boots,  "if  so 
be  you  has  a  mind  to  stay  and  see  'em.  But  don't  you  go  to 
the  gardener,  he'll  want  half-a-crown  ;  there's  an  old  'oman  at 
the  lodge,  who  will  show  you  all  that's  worth  seeing — the  walks 
and  the  big  cascade — for  a  tizzy.  You  may  make  use  of  my 
name,"  he  added  proudly — "  Bob,  boots  at  the  Lion.  She  be 
a  //aunt  o'  mine,  and  she  minds  them  that  come  from  me  per- 
tiklerly." 

Not  doubting  that  the  purest  philanthropy  actuated  these 


THE   CAXTONS.  97 

counsels,  I  thanked  my  shockheaded  friend,  and  asked  care- 
lessly to  whom  the  park  belonged. 

"  To  Muster  Trevanion,  the  great  Parliament  man,"  answered 
the  Boots.     "  You  has  heard  o'  him,  I  guess,  sir?" 

I  shook  my  head,  surprised  every  hour,  more  and  more,  to 
find  how  very  little  there  was  in  it. 

"  They  takes  in  the  Moderate  Mans  Journal  at  the  Lamb  ; 
and  they  say  in  the  tap  there  that  he's  one  of  the  cleverest 
chaps  in  the  House  o'  Commons,"  continued  the  Boots  in  a 
confidential  whisper.  "  But  we  takes  in  the  People's  Thunder- 
bolt at  the  Lion,  and  we  knows  better  this  Muster  Trevanion  : 
he  is  but  a  trimmer — milk  and  water — no  ^orator — not  the 
right  sort — you  understand  ?  " 

Perfectly  satisfied  that  I  understood  nothing  about  it,  I 
smiled,  and  said,  "  Oh  yes";  and  slipping  on  my  knapsack, 
commenced  my  adventures  ;  the  Boots  bawling  after  me  : 
"  Mind,  sir,  you  tells  ^aunt  I  sent  you  !  " 

The  town  was  only  languidly  putting  forth  symptoms  of 
returning  life,  as  I  strode  through  the  streets  ;  a  pale,  sickly, 
unwholesome  look  on  the  face  of  the  slothful  Phoebus  had 
succeeded  the  feverish  hectic  of  the  past  night  ;  the  artisans 
whom  I  met  glided  by  me,  haggard  and  dejected  ;  a  few  early 
shops  were  alone  open  ;  one  or  two  drunken  men,  emerging 
from  the  lanes,  sallied  homeward  with  broken  pipes  in  their 
mouths  ;  bills  with  large  capitals,  calling  attention  to  *'  Best 
family  teas  at  4s.  a  lb.  ";  "the  arrival  of  Mr.  Sloman's  caravan 
of  wild  beasts,"  and  Dr.  Do'em's  "  Paracelsian  Pills  of  Immor- 
tality," stared  out  dull  and  uncheering  from  the  walls  of  tenant- 
less,  dilapidated  houses,  in  that  chill  sunrise  which  favors  no 
illusion.  I  was  glad  when  I  had  left  the  town  behind  me,  and 
saw  the  reapers  in  the  corn-fields,  and  heard  the  chirp  of  the 
birds.  I  arrived  at  the  lodge  of  which  the  Boots  had  spoken  ; 
a  pretty,  rustic  building  half-concealed  by  a  belt  of  plantations, 
with  two  large  iron  gates  for  the  owner's  friends,  and  a  small 
turnstile  for  the  public,  who,  by  some  strange  neglect  on  his 
part,  or  sad  want  of  interest  with  the  neighboring  magistrates, 
had  still  preserved  a  right  to  cross  the  rich  man's  domains, 
and  look  on  his  grandeur,  limited  to  compliance  with  a  reason- 
able request  mildly  stated  on  the  notice-board,  "  to  keep  to 
the  paths."  As  it  was  not  yet  eight  o'clock,  I  had  plenty  of 
time  before  me  to  see  the  grounds,  and,  profiting  by  the  eco- 
nomical hint  of  the  Boots,  I  entered  the  lodge,  and  inquired 
for  the  old  lady  who  was  //aunt  to  Mr.  Bob.  A  young  woman, 
who  was  busied    in   preparing  breakfast,  nodded    with  great. 


98  THE   CAXTONS. 

civility  to  this  request,  and,  hastening  to  a  bundle  of  clothes 
which  I  then  perceived  in  the  corner,  she  cried  :  "  Grand- 
mother, here's  a  gentleman  to  see  the  cascade." 

The  bundle  of  clothes  then  turned  round,  and  exhibited  a 
human  countenance,  which  lighted  up  with  great  intelligence 
as  the  granddaughter,  turning  to  me,  said  with  simplicity  : 
"  She's  old,  honest  cretur,but  she  still  likes  to  earn  a  sixpence, 
sir  ";  and  taking  a  crutch-staff  in  her  hand,  while  her  grand- 
daughter put  a  neat  bonnet  on  her  head,  this  industrious  gentle- 
woman sallied  out  at  a  pace  which  surprised  me. 

I  attempted  to  enter  into  conversation  with  my  guide  ;  but 
she  did  not  seem  much  inclined  to  be  sociable,  and  the  beauty 
of  the  glades  and  groves  which  now  spread  before  my  eyes 
reconciled  me  to  silence. 

I  have  seen  many  fine  places  since  then,  but  I  do  not  remem- 
ber to  have  seen  a  landscape  more  beautiful  in  its  peculiar 
English  character  than  that  which  I  now  gazed  on.  It  had 
none  of  the  feudal  characteristics  of  ancient  parks,  with  giant 
oaks,  fantastic  pollards,  glens  covered  with  fern,  and  deer 
grouped  upon  the  slopes  ;  on  the  contrary,  in  spite  of  some 
fine  trees,  chiefly  beech,  the  impression  conveyed  was  that  it 
was  a  new  place — a  made  place.  You  might  see  ridges  on  the 
lawns  which  showed  where  hedges  had  been  removed  ;  the 
pastures  were  parcelled  out  in  divisions  by  new  wire-fences ; 
young  plantations,  planned  with  exquisite  taste,  but  without 
the  venerable  formality  of  avenues  and  quincunxes,  by  which 
you  know  the  parks  that  date  from  Elizabeth  and  James,  diver- 
sified the  rich  extent  of  verdure ;  instead  of  deer,  were  short- 
horned  cattle  of  the  finest  breed  ;  sheep  that  would  have  won 
the  prize  at  an  agricultural  show.  Everywhere  there  was  the 
evidence  of  improvement,  energy,  capital  ;  but  capital  clearly 
not  employed  for  the  mere  purpose  of  return.  The  ornamental 
M-as  too  conspicuously  predominant  amidst  the  lucrative,  not 
to  say  eloquently  :  "  The  owner  is  willing  to  make  the  most  of 
his  land,  but  not  the  most  of  his  money." 

But  the  old  woman's  eagerness  to  earn  sixpence  had  impressed 
me  unfavorably  as  to  the  character  of  the  master.  "  Here," 
thought  I,  "are  all  the  signs  of  riches  ;  and  yet  this  poor  old 
woman,  living  on  the  very  threshold  of  opulence,  is  in  want  of 
a  sixpence." 

These  surmises,  in  the  indulgence  of  which  I  piqued  myself 
on  my  penetration,  were  strengthened  into  convictions  by  the 
few  sentences  which  I  succeeded  at  last  in  eliciting  from  the 
old  woman. 


THE    CAXTONS.  99 

"  Mr.  Trevanion  must  be  a  rich  man,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  ay,  rich  eno'  !  "  grumbled  my  guide. 

"  And,"  said  I,  surveying  the  extent  of  shubbery  or  dressed 
ground  through  which  our  way  wound,  now  emerging  into 
lawns  and  glades,  now  belted  by  rare  garden-trees,  now  (as 
every  inequality  of  the  ground  was  turned  to  advantage  in  the 
landscape)  sinking  into  the  dell,  now  climbing  up  the  slopes, 
and  now  confining  the  view  to  some  object  of  graceful  art  or 
enchanting  nature  ;  "  And,"  said  I,  "  he  must  employ  many 
hands  here— plenty  of  work,  eh  !  " 

"  Ay,  ay— I  don't  say  that  he  don't  find  work  for  those  who 
want  it.     But  it  aint  the  same  place  it  wor  in  my  day." 

"  You  remember  it  in  other  hands,  then  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay  !  When  the  Hogtons  had  it,  honest  folk  !  My 
good  man  was  the  gardener — none  of  those  set-up  fine  gentle- 
men who  can't  put  hand  to  a  spade." 

Poor,  faithful  old  woman  ! 

I  began  to  hate  the  unknown  proprietor.  Here  clearly  was 
some  mushroom  usurper  who  had  bought  out  the  old,  simple, 
hospitable  family,  neglected  its  ancient  servants,  left  them  to 
earn  tizzies  by  showing  waterfalls,  and  insulted  their  eyes  by 
his  selfish  wealth. 

"  There's  the  water  all  sp/l't — it  warn't  so  in  my  day,"  said 
the  guide. 

A  rivulet,  whose  murmur  I  had  long  heard,  now  stole  sud- 
denly into  view,  and  gave  to  the  scene  the  crowning  charm. 
As,  relapsing  into  silence,  we  tracked  its  sylvan  course,  under 
dipping  chestnuts  and  shady  limes,  the  house  itself  emerged 
on  the  opposite  side — a  modern  building  of  white  stone,  with 
the  noblest  Corinthian  portico  I  ever  saw  in  this  country. 

"  A  fine  house,  indeed,"  said  I.  "  Is  Mr.  Trevanion  here 
much  ? " 

"  Ay,  ay — I  don't  mean  to  say  that  he  goes  away  altogether, 
but  it  aint  as  it  wor  in  my  day,  when  the  Hogtons  lived  here 
all  the  year  round  in  their  warm  house,  not  that  one." 

Good  old  woman,  and  these  poor,  banished  Hogtons  ! 
thought  I  :  hateful  parvenu  !  I  was  pleased  when  a  curve  in 
the  shubberies  shut  out  the  house  from  view,  though  in  reality 
bringing  us  nearer  to  it.  And  the  boasted  cascade,  whose 
roar  I  had  heard  for  some  moments,  came  in  sight. 

Amidst  the  Alps,  such  a  waterfall  would  have  been  insig- 
nificant, but  contrasting  ground  highly  dressed,  with  no  other 
bold  features,  its  effect  as  striking,  and  even  grand.  The 
banks   were   here  narrowed  and  compressed  ;    rocks,  partly 


loo  THE   CAXTONS. 

natural,  partly  no  doubt  artificial,  gave  a  rough  aspect  to  the 
margin  ;  and  the  cascade  fell  from  a  considerable  height  into 
rapid  waters,  which  my  guide  mumbled  out  were  "  mortal  deep." 

"  There  wor  a  madman  leapt  over  where  you  be  standing," 
said  the  old  woman,  "  two  years  ago  last  June." 

"A  madman!  Why,"  said  I,  observing,  with  an  eye 
practised  in  the  gymnasium  of  the  Hellenic  Institute,  the  narrow 
space  of  the  banks  over  the  gulf ;  "  Why,  my  good  lady,  it  need 
not  be  a  madman  to  perform  that  leap." 

And  so  saying,  with  one  of  those  sudden  impulses  which  it 
would  be  wrong  to  ascribe  to  the  noble  quality  of  courage,  I 
drew  back  a  few  steps,  and  cleared  the  abyss.  But  when,  from 
the  other  side,  I  looked  back  at  what  I  had  done,  and  saw  that 
failure  had  been  death,  a  sickness  came  over  me,  and  I  felt  as 
if  I  would  not  have  re-leapt  the  gulf  to  become  lord  of  the 
domain. 

"  And  how  am  I  to  get  back  ?  "  said  I  in  a  forlorn  voice,  to 
the  old  woman,  who  stood  staring  at  me  on  the  other  side. 
"  Ah  !  I  see  there  is  a  bridge  below." 

"  But  you  can't  go  over  the  bridge  ;  there's  a  gate  on  it ; 
master  keeps  the  key  himself.  You  are  in  the  private  grounds 
now.  Dear — dear  !  the  squire  would  be  so  angry  if  he  knew. 
You  must  go  back  ;  and  they'll  see  you  from  the  house  ! 
Dear  me  !  dear — dear  !  What  shall  I  do  ?  Can't  you  leap 
back  again  ? " 

Moved  by  these  piteous  exclamations,  and  not  wishing  to 
subject  the  poor  old  lady  to  the  wrath  of  a  master,  evidently  an 
unfeeling  tyrant,  I  resolved  to  pluck  up  courage  and  re-leap 
the  dangerous  abyss. 

"  Oh  yes — never  fear,"  said  I,  therefore.  "  What's  been 
done  once  ought  to  be  done  twice,  if  needful.  Just  get  out  of 
my  way,  will  you  ?  " 

And  I  receded  several  paces  over  a  ground  much  too  rough 
to  favor  my  run  for  a  spring.  But  my  heart  knocked  against 
my  ribs.  I  felt  that  impulse  can  do  wonders  where  preparation 
fails. 

"  You  had  best  be  quick,  then,"  said  the  old  woman. 

Horrid  old  woman  !  I  began  to  esteem  her  less.  I  set  my 
teeth,  and  was  about  to  rush  on,  when  a  voice  close  beside  me 
said  : 

"  Stay,  young  man  ;  I  will  let  you  through  the  gate." 

I  turned  round  sharply,  and  .saw  close  by  my  side,  in  great 
wonder  that  I  had  not  seen  him  before,  a  man,  whose  homely 
(but  not  working)  dress  seemed  to  intimate  his  station  as  tha^ 


THE   CaXTONS.  101 

of  the  head  gardener,  of  whom  my  guide  had  spoken.  He 
was  seated  on  a  stone  under  a  chestnut-tree,  with  an  ugly  cur 
at  his  feet,  who  snarled  at  me  as  I  turned. 

"Thank  you,  my  man,"  said  I  joyfully.  "  I  confess  frankly 
that  I  was  very  much  afraid  of  that  leap." 

"  Ho  !  Yet  you  said,  what  can  be  done  once  can  be  done 
twice." 

"  I  did  not  say  it  could  he  done,  but  ought  to  be  done." 

"  Humph  !     That's  better  put." 

Here  the  man  rose — the  dog  came  and  smelt  my  legs  ;  and 
then,  as  if  satisfied  with  my  respectability,  wagged  the  stump 
of  his  tail. 

I  looked  across  the  waterfall  for  the  old  v/oman,  and  to  my 
surprise,  saw  her  hobbling  back  as  fast  as  she  could. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  I,  laughing,  "  the  poor  old  thing  is  afraid  you'll 
tell  tell  her  master — for  you're  the  head  gardener,  I  suppose  ? 
But  I  am  the  only  person  to  blame.  Pray  say  that,  if  you 
mention  the  circum.stance  at  all  !  "  and  I  drew  out  half-a-crown, 
which  I  proffered  to  my  new  conductor. 

He  put  back  the  money  with  a  low  "  Humph — not  amiss." 
Then,  in  a  louder  voice  :  "  No  occasion  to  bribe  me,  young 
man  ;  I  saw  it  all." 

"  I  fear  your  master  is  rather  hard  to  the  poor  Hogtons'  old 
servants. 

"  Is  he  ?  Oh  !  humph — my  master.  Mr.  Trevanion  you 
mean  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  people  say  so.  This  is  the  way."  And  he 
led  me  down  a  little  glen  away  from  the  fall. 

Everybody  must  have  observed,  that  after  he  has  incurred 
or  escaped  a  great  danger,  his  spirits  rise  wonderfully,  he  is 
in  a  state  of  pleasing  excitement.  So  it  was  with  me.  I 
talked  to  the  gardener  a  caur  ouvert,  as  the  French  say  :  and 
I  did  not  observe  that  his  short  monosyllables  in  rejoinder  all 
served  to  draw  out  my  little  history — my  journey,- its  destina- 
tion ;  my  schooling  under  Dr.  Herman,  and  my  father's  Great 
Book.  I  was  only  made  somewhat  suddenly  aware  of  the 
familiarity  that  had  sprung  up  between  us,  when,  just  as, 
having  performed  a  circuitous  meander,  we  regained  the 
stream  and  stood  before  an  iron  gate,  set  in  an  arch  of  rock- 
work,  my  companion  said  simply  :  "  And  your  name,  young 
gentleman  ?     What's  your  name  ?  " 

I  hesitated  a  moment  ;  but  having  heard  that  such  com- 
munications were  usually  made  by  the  visitors  of  show  places^ 


102  THE   CAXTONS. 

1  answered  :  "  Oh  !  a  very  venerable  one,   if  your  master  is 
what  they  call  a  bibliomaniac — Caxton." 

'*  Caxton  ;  "  cried  the  gardener  with  some  vivacity.  "  There 
is  a  Cumberland  family  of  that  name — " 

"  That's  mine  ;  and  my  Uncle  Roland  is  the  head  of  that 
family." 

"And  you  are  the  son  of  Augustine  Caxton  ?  " 
,  "  I  am.     You  have  heard  of  my  dear  father,  then  ? " 

"We  will  not  pass  by  the  gate  now.  Follow  me — this  way"; 
and  my  guide,  turning  abruptly  round,  strode  up  a  narrow 
path,  and  the  house  stood  a  hundred  yards  before  me  ere  I 
recovered  my  surprise. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  I,  "  but  where  are  we  going,  iny  good 
friend  ?  " 

"  Good  friend — good  friend  !  Well  said,  sir.  You  are 
going  amongst  good  friends.  I  was  at  college  with  your  father. 
I  loved  him  well.  I  knew  a  little  of  your  uncle  too.  My 
name  is  Trevanion." 

Blind  young  fool  that  I  was  !  The  moment  my  guide  told 
his  name,  I  was  struck  with  amazement  at  my  unaccountable 
mistake.  The  small,  insignificant  figure  took  instant  dignity  ; 
the  homely  dress,  of  rough,  dark  broadcloth,  was  the  natural 
and  becoming  deshabille  of  a  country  gentleman  in  his  own 
demennen.  Even  the  ugly  cur  became  a  Scotch  terrier  of  the 
rarest  breed. 

My  guide  smiled  good-naturedly  at  my  stupor  ;  and  patting 
me  on  the  shoulder,  said  : 

"  It  is  the  gardener  you  must  apologize  to,  not  me.  He  is  a 
very  handsome  fellow,  six  feet  high." 

I  had  not  found  my  tongue  before  we  had  ascended  abroad 
flight  of  stairs  under  the  portico  ;  passed  a  spacious  hall, 
adorned  with  statues  and  fragrant  with  large  orange-trees  ; 
and,  entering  a  small  room,  hung  with  pictures,  in  which  were 
arranged  all  the  appliances  for  breakfast,  my  companion  said 
to  a  lady,  who  rose  from  behind  the  tea-urn  :  "My  dear  Elli- 
nor,  I  introduce  to  you  the  son  of  our  old  friend  Augustine 
Caxton.  Make  him  stay  with  us  as  long  as  he  can.  Young 
gentleman,  in  Lady  Ellinor  Trevanion  think  that  you  see  one 
whom  you  ought  to  know  well — family  friendships  should 
descend." 

My  host  said  these  last  words  in  an  imposing  tone,  and  then 
pounced  on  a  letter-bag  on  the  table,  drew  forth  an  immense 
heap  of  letters  and  newspapers,  threw  himself  into  an  arm-chair, 
and  seemed  perfectly  forgetful  of  my  existence. 


THE   CAXTONS.  I03 

The  lady  stood  a  moment  in  mute  surprise,  and  I  saw  that 
she  changed  color  from  pale  to  red,  and  red  to  pale,  before 
she  came  forward  with  the  enchanting  grace  of  unaffected 
kindness,  took  me  by  the  hand,  drew  me  to  a  seat  next  to  her 
own,  and  asked  so  cordially  after  my  father,  my  uncle,  my 
whole  family,  that  in  five  minutes  I  felt  myself  at  home. 
Lady  Ellinor  listened  with  a  smile  (though  with  moistened 
eyes,  which  she  wiped  every  now  and  then)  to  my  artless  de- 
tails.    At  length  she  said  : 

"  Have  you  never  heard  your  father  speak  of  me — I  mean  of 
us — of  the  Trevanions  ?" 

"  Never,"  said  I  bluntly  ;  "  and  that  would  puzzle  me,  only 
my  dear  father,  you  know,  is  not  a  great  talker." 

"  Indeed  !  He  was  very  animated  when  I  knew  him,"  said 
Lady  Ellinor,  and  she  turned  her  head  and  sighed. 

At  this  moment  there  entered  a  young  lady,  so  fresh,  so 
blooming,  so  lovely,  that  every  other  thought  vanished  out  of 
my  head  at  once.  She  came  in  singing,  as  gay  as  a  bird,  and 
seeming  to  my  adoring  sight  quite  as  native  to  the  skies. 

"  Fanny,"  said  Lady  Ellinor,  "  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Cax^ 
ton,  the  son  of  one  whom  I  have  not  seen  since  I  was  littU 
older  than  you,  but  whom  I  remember  as  if  it  were  but  yester- 
day." 

Miss  Fanny  blushed  and  smiled,  and  held  out  her  hand  with 
an  easy  frankness  which  I  in  vain  endeavored  to  imitate. 
During  breakfast,  Mr.  Trevanion  continued  to  read  his  letters 
and  glance  over  the  papers,  with  an  occasional  ejaculation  of 
"Pish!"  "Stuff!" — between  the  intervals  in  which  he 
mechanically  swallowed  his  tea,  or  some  small  morsels  of  dry 
toast.  Then  rising  with  the  suddenness  which  characterized 
his  movements,  he  stood  on  his  hearth  for  a  few  moments 
buried  in  thought  ;  and  now  that  a  large-brimmed  hat  was 
removed  from  his  brow,  and  the  abruptness  of  his  first  move- 
ment, with  the  sedateness  of  his  after  pause,  arrested  my  curi- 
ous attention,  I  was  more  than  ever  ashamed  of  my  mistake. 
It  was  a  careworn,  eager,  and  yet  musing  countenance,  hollow- 
eyed,  and  with  deep  lines  ;  but  it  was  one  of  those  faces  which 
take  dignity  and  refinement  from  that  mental  cultivation  which 
distinguishes  the  true  aristocrat,  viz.,  the  highly  educated, 
acutely  intelligent  man.  Very  handsome  might  that  face  have 
been  in  youth,  for  the  features,  though  small,  were  exquisitely 
defined  ;  the  brow,  partially  bald,  was  noble  and  massive,  and 
there  was  almost  feminine  delicacy  in  the  curve  of  the  lip. 
The  whole  expression  of  the  face  was  commanding,  but  sad. 


104  THE   CAXTONS. 

Often,  as  my  experience  of  life  increased,  have  I  thought  to 
trace  upon  that  expressive  visage  the  history  of  energetic 
ambition  curbed  by  a  fastidious  philosophy  and  a  scrupulous  con- 
science ;  but  then  all  that  I  could  see  was  a  vague,  dissatisfied 
melancholy,  which  dejected  me  I  knew  not  why. 

Presently  Trevanion  returned  to  the  table,  collected  his  let- 
ters, moved  slowly  towards  the  door,  and  vanished. 

His  wife's  eyes  followed  him  tenderly.  Those  eyes  reminded 
me  of  my  mother's,  as,  I  verily  believe,  did  all  eyes  that 
expressed  affection.  I  crept  nearer  to  her,  and  longed  to  press 
the  white  hand  that  lay  so  listless  before  me. 

"  Will  you  walk  out  with  us  ?  "  said  Miss  Trevanion,  turning 
to  me.  I  bowed,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I  found  myself  alone. 
While  the  ladies  left  me,  for  their  shawls  and  bonnets,  I  took 
up  the  newspapers  which  Mr.  Trevanion  had  thrown  on  the 
table,  by  way  of  something  to  do.  My  eye  was  caught  by  his 
own  name  ;  it  occurred  often,  and  in  all  the  papers.  There 
was  contemptuous  abuse  in  one,  high  eulogy  in  another  ;  but 
one  passage,  in  a  journal  that  seemed  to  aim  at  impartiality, 
struck  me  so  much  as  to  remain  in  my  memory  ;  and  I  am 
sure  that  I  can  still  quote  the  sense,  though  not  the  exact 
words.     The  paragraph  ran  somewhat  thus  : 

**  In  the  present  state  of  parties,  our  contemporaries  have, 
not  unnaturally,  devoted  much  space  to  the  claims  or  demerits 
of  Mr.  Trevanion.  It  is  a  name  that  stands  unquestionably 
high  in  the  House  of  Commons  ;  but,  as  unquestionably,  it 
commands  little  sympathy  in  the  country.  Mr.  Trevanion  is 
essentially  and  emphatically  a  member  of  Parliament.  He  is  a 
close  and  ready  debater  ;  he  is  an  admirable  chairman  in  com- 
mittees. Though  never  in  office,  his  long  experience  of  pub- 
lic life,  his  gratuitous  attention  to  public  business,  have  ranked 
him  high  among  those  practical  politicians  from  whom  minis- 
ters are  selected.  A  man  of  spotless  character  and  excellent 
intentions,  no  doubt,  he  must  be  considered  ;  and  in  him  any 
cabinet  would  gain  an  honest  and  a  useful  member.  There 
ends  all  we  can  say  in  his  praise.  As  a  speaker,  he  wants  the 
fire  and  enthusiasm  which  engage  the  popular  sympathies. 
He  has  the  ear  of  the  House,  not  the  heart  of  the  country.  An 
oracle  on  subjects  of  mere  business,  in  the  great  questions  of 
policy  he  is  comparatively  a  failure.  He  never  embraces  any 
party  heartily  ;  he  never  espouses  any  question  as  if  wholly  in 
earnest.  The  moderation  on  which  he  is  said  to  pique  himself, 
often  exhibits  itself  in  fastidious  crotchets,  and  an  attempt  at 
philosophical  originality  of  candor,  which  has  long  obtained 


THE    CAXTONS.  I05 

him,  with  his  enemies,  the  reputation  of  a  trimmer.  Such  a 
man  circumstances  may  throw  into  temporary  power  ;  but  can 
he  command  lasting  influence  ?  No  :  let  Mr.  Trevanion 
remain  in  what  nature  and  position  assign  as  his  proper  post, 
that  of  an  upright,  independent,  able  member  of  Parliament ; 
conciliating  sensible  men  on  both  sides,  when  party  runs 
into  extremes.  He  is  undone  as  a  cabinet  minister.  His 
scruples  would  break  up  any  government  ;  and  his  want  of 
decision,  when,  as  in  all  human  affairs,  some  errors  must 
be  conceded  to  obtain  a  great  good,  would  shipwreck  his  own 
fame." 

I  had  just  got  to  the  end  of  this  paragraph,  when  the  ladies 
returned. 

My  hostess  observed  the  newspaper  in  my  hand,  and  said, 
with  a  constrained  smile,  "  Some  attack  on  Mr.  Trevanion,  I 
suppose  ? " 

"  No,"  said  I  awkwardly  ;  for,  perhaps,  the  paragraph  that 
appeared  to  me  so  impartial  was  the  most  galling  attack  of  all. 
"  No,  not  exactly." 

"  I  never  read  the  papers  now,  at  least  what  are  called  the 
leading  articles — it  is  too  painful  :  and  once  they  gave  me  so 
much  pleasure — that  was  when  the  career  began,  and  before 
the  fame  was  made." 

Here  Lady  Ellinor  opened  the  window  which  admitted  on 
the  lawn,  and  in  a  few  moments  we  were  in  that  part  of  the 
pleasure-grounds  which  the  family  reserved  from  the  public 
curiosity.  We  passed  by  rare  shrubs  and  strange  flowens,  long 
ranges  of  conservatories,  in  which  bloomed  and  lived  all  the 
marvellous  vegetation  of  Africa  and  the  Indies. 

"  Mr.  Trevanion  is  fond  of  flowers  ?"  said  I. 

The  fair  Fanny  laughed.  '*  I  don't  think  he  knows  one  from 
another." 

"  Nor  I  either,"  said  I  :  **  that  is,  when  I  fairly  lose  sight  of 
a  rose  or  a  hollyhock." 

"  The  farm  will  interest  you  more,"  said  Lady  Ellinor. 

We  came  to  farm  buildings  recently  erected,  and  no  doubt 
on  the  most  improved  principle.  Lady  Ellinor  pointed  out  to 
me  machines  and  contrivances  of  the  newest  fashion,  for 
abridging  labor,  and  perfecting  the  mechanical  operations  of 
agriculture. 

"  Ah,  then,  Mr.  Trevanion  is  fond  of  farming." 

The  pretty  Fanny  laughed  again. 

"  My  father  is  one  of  the  great  oracles  in  agriculture,  one 
of  the  great  patrons  of  all  its  improvements ;  but,  as  for  being 


Io6  THE    CAXTONS. 

fond  of  farming,  I  doubt  if  he  knows  his  own  fields  when  he 
rides  through  them." 

We  returned  to  the  house  ;  and  Miss  Trevanion,  whose 
frank  kindness  had  already  made  too  deep  an  impression  upon 
the  youthful  heart  of  Pisistratus  the  Second,  offered  to  show 
me  the  picture-gallery.  The  collection  was  confined  to  the 
works  of  English  artists  ;  and  Miss  Trevanion  pointed  out  to 
me  the  main  attractions  of  the  gallery. 

"  Well,  at  least  Mr.  Trevanion  is  fond  of  pictures  !  " 

"  Wrong  again,"  said  Fanny,  shaking  her  arch  head.  "  My 
father  is  saifl  to  be  an  admirable  judge  ;  but  he  only  buys  pic- 
tures from  a  sense  of  duty — to  encourage  our  own  painters. 
A  picture  once  bought,  I  am  not  sure  that  he  ever  looks  at  it 
again  !  " 

"What  does  he  then — "  I  stopped  short,  fori  felt  my  medi- 
tated question  was  ill-bred. 

"  What  does  he  like  then  ?  you  were  about  to  say.  Why,  I 
have  known  him,  of  course,  since  I  could  know  anything  ;  but 
I  have  never  yet  discovered  what  my  father  does  like.  No — 
not  even  politics,  though  he  lives  for  politics  alone.  You  look 
puzzled  ;  you  will  know  him  better  some  day,  1  hope  ;  but  you 
will  never  solve  the  mystery — what  Mr.  Trevanion  likes." 

"  You  are  wrong,"  said  Lady  EUinor,  who  had  followed  us 
into  the  room,  unheard  by  us.  "  1  can  tell  you  what  your  father 
does  more  than  like — what  he  loves  and  serves  every  hour  of 
his  noble  life — justice,  beneficence,  honor,  and  his  country. 
A  man  who  loves  these  may  be  excused  for  indifference  to  the 
last  geranium  or  the  newest  plough,  or  even  (though  that 
offend  you  more,  Fanny)  the  freshest  masterpiece  by  Land- 
seer,  or  the  latest  fashion  honored  by  Miss  Trevanion." 

"  Mamma  I"  said  Fanny,  and   the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

But  Lady  Ellinor  looked  to  me  sublime  as  she  spoke,  her 
eyes  kindled,  her  breast  heaved.  The  wife  taking  the  hus- 
band's part  against  the  child,  and  comprehending  so  well  what 
the  child  felt  not,  despite  its  experience  of  every  day,  and 
what  the  world  would  never  know,  despite  all  the  vigilance  of 
its  praise  and  its  blame,  was  a  picture,  to  my  taste,  finer  than 
any  in  the  collection. 

Her  face  softened  as  she  saw  the  tears  in  Fanny's  bright 
hazel  eyes ;  she  held  out  her  hand,  which  her  child  kissed  ten- 
derly :  and  whispering,  "  'Tis  not  the  giddy  word  you  must  go 
by,  mamma,  or  there  will  be  something  to  forgive  every  min- 
ute," Miss  Trevanion  glided  from  the  room. 

"  Have  you  a  sister  ?  "  asked  Lady  Ellinor. 


THE   CAXTONS  I07 

«  No." 

"And  Trevanion  has  no  son,"  she  said  mournfully.  The 
blood  rushed  to  my  cheeks.  Oh,  young  fool,  again  !  We 
were  both  silent,  when  the  door  was  opened,  and  Mr.  Trevan- 
ion entered. 

"  Humph,"  said  he,  smiling  as  he  saw  me,  and  his  smile  was 
charming  though  rare.  "  Humph,  young  sir,  I  came  to  seek 
for  you  ;  I  have  been  rude,  I  fear  :  pardon  it — that  thought 
had  only  just  occurred  to  me,  so  I  left  my  Blue  Books,  and 
my  amanuensis  hard  at  work  on  them,  to  ask  you  to  come 
out  for  half  an  hour — just  half  an  hour,  it  is  all  I  can 
give  you — a  deputation  at  one!  You  dine  and  sleep  here, 
of  course  ? " 

"  Ah,  sir  !  my  mother  will  be  so  uneasy  if  I  am  not  in  town 
to-night." 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  the  member,  ''  I'll  send  an  express." 

"Oh,  no  indeed  ;  thank  you." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

I  hesitated.  "You  see,  sir,  that  my  father  and  mother  are 
both  new  to  London  :  and  though  I  am  new  too,  yet  they  may 
want  me — I  may  be  of  use."  Lady  EUinor  put  her  hand  on 
my  head,  and  sleeked  down  my  hair  as  I  spoke. 

"  Right,  young  man,  right ;  you  will  do  in  the  world,  wrong 
as  that  is.  I  don't  mean  that  you'll  succeed,  as  the  rogues  say, 
that's  another  question  ;  but,  if  you  don't  rise,  you'll  not  fall. 
Now,  put  on  your  hat  and  come  with  me  ;  we'll  walk  to  the 
lodge — you  will  be  in  time  for  a  coach." 

I  took  my  leave  of  Lady  EUinor,  and  longed  to  say  some- 
thing about  *  compliments  to  Miss  Fanny, '  but  the  words  stuck 
in  my  throat,  and  my  host  seemed  impatient. 

"  We  must  see  you  soon  again  !  "  said  Lady  EUinor  kindly, 
as  she  followed  us  to  the  door. 

Mr.  Trevanion  walked  on  briskly  and  in  silence — one  hand 
in  his  bosom,  the  other  swinging  carelessly  a  thick  walking- 
stick. 

"  But  I  must  go  round  by  the  bridge,"  said  I,  "  for  I  forgot 
my  knapsack.  I  threw  it  off  when  I  made  my  leap,  and  the 
old  lady  certainly  never  took  charge  of  it." 

"  Come,  then,  this  way.     How  old  are  you  ? " 

"  Seventeen  and  a  half." 

"  You  know  Latin  and  Greek  as  they  know  them  at  schools, 
I  suppose  ? " 

"  I  think  I  know  them  pretty  well,  sir." 

"  Does  your  father  say  so  ?  " 


Io8  THE   CAXTONS. 

"  Why,  my  father  is  fastidious  ;  however,  he  owns  that  he  is 

satisfied  on  the  whole." 

"  So  am  I,  then.     Mathematics  ?  " 

"  A  little." 

"  Good." 

Here  the  conversation  dropped  for  some  time.  I  had  found 
and  restrapped  the  knapsack,  and  we  were  near  the  lodge, 
when  Mr.  Trevanion  said  abruptly  :  "  Talk,  my  young  friend, 
talk  :  I  like  to  hear  you  talk — it  refreshes  me.  Nobody  has 
talked  naturally  to  me  these  last  ten  years." 

The  request  was  a  complete  damper  to  my  ingenuous  elo- 
quence :  I  could  not  have  talked  naturally  now  for  the  life 
of  me. 

"  I  made  a  mistake,  I  see,"  said  my  companion  good- 
humoredly,  noticing  my  embarrassment.  "  Here  we  are  at  the 
lodge.  The  coach  will  be  by  in  five  minutes  :  you  can  spend 
that  time  in  hearing  the  old  woman  praise  the  Hogtons  and 
abuse  me.  And  hark  you,  sir,  never  care  three  straws  for 
praise  or  blame — leather  and  prunella  !  praise  and  blame  are 
^^r<?./"  and  he  struck  his  hand  upon  his  breast,  with  almost 
passionate  emphasis.  "  Take  a  specimen.  These  Hogtons 
were  the  bane  of  the  place  ;  uneducated  and  miserly  ;  their 
land  a  wilderness,  their  village  a  pig-sty.  I  come,  with  capital 
and  intelligence  ;  I  redeem  the  soil,  I  banish  pauperism,  I 
civilize  all  around  me  ;  no  merit  in  me — I  am  but  a  type  of 
capital  guided  by  education — a  machine.  And  yet  the  old 
woman  is  not  the  only  one  who  will  hint  to  you  that  the  Hog- 
tons were  angels,  and  myself  the  usual  antithesis  to  angels. 
And,  what  is  more,  sir,  because  that  old  woman,  who  has  ten 
shillings  a  week  from  me,  sets  her  heart  upon  earning  her  six- 
pences— and  I  give  her  that  privileged  luxury — every  visitor 
she  talks  to  goes  away  with  the  idea  that  I,  the  rich  Mr.  Tre- 
vanion, lei  her  starve  on  what  she  can  pick  up  from  the  sight- 
seers. Now,  does  that  signify  a  jot  ?  Good-by.  Tell  your 
father  his  old  friend  must  see  him  ;  profit  by  his  calm  wisdom; 
his  old  friend  is  a  fool  sometimes,  and  sad  at  heart.  When 
you  are  settled,  send  me  a  line  to  St.  James's  Square,  to  say 
where  you  are.     Humph  !  that's  enough." 

Mr.  Trevanion  wrung  my  hand  and  strode  off. 

I  did  not  wait  for  the  coach,  but  proceeded  towards  the  turn- 
stile, where  the  old  woman  (who  had  either  seen,  or  scented  from 
;a  distance,  that  tizzy  of  which  I  was  the  impersonation) — 
"  Hushed  in  grim  repose,  did  wait  her  morning  prey." 

Mv  opinion  as  to  her  sufferings,  and  the  virtues  of  the 


THE   CAXTONS.  Id^ 

departed  Hogtons,  somewhat  modified,  I  contented  myself 
with  dropping  into  her  open  palm  the  exact  sum  virtually 
agreed  on.  But  that  palm  still  remained  open,  and  the  fingers 
of  the  other  clawed  hold  of  me  as  I  stood,  impounded  in  the 
curve  of  the  turnstile,  like  a  cork  in  a  patent  cork-screw. 

"  And  threepence  for  Nephy  Bob,"  said  the  old  lady. 

"  Threepence  for  Nephew  Bob,  and  why  ? " 

"  'Tis  his  parquisites  when  he  recommends  a  gentleman. 
You  would  not  have  me  pay  out  of  my  own  earnings  :  for  he 
will  have  it  or  he'll  ruin  my  bizziness.  Poor  folk  must  be  paid 
for  their  trouble." 

Obdurate  to  this  appeal,  and  mentally  consigning  Bob  to  a 
master  whose  feet  would  be  all  the  handsomer  for  boots,  I 
threaded  the  stile  and  escaped. 

Towards  evening  I  reached  London.  Who  ever  saw  London 
for  the  first  time  and  was  not  disappointed  ?  Those  long 
suburbs  melting  indefinably  away  into  the  capital,  forbid  all 
surprise.  The  gradual  is  a  great  disenchanter.  I  thought  it 
prudent  to  take  a  hackney-coach,  and  so  jolted  my  way  to 

the hotel,  the  door  of  which  was  in  a  small  street  out  of 

the  Strand,  though  the  greater  part  of  the  building  faced  that 
noisy  thoroughfare.  I  found  my  father  in  a  state  of  great 
discomfort  in  a  little  room,  which  he  paced  up  and  down  like 
a  lion  new  caught  in  his  cage.  My  poor  mother  was  full  of 
complaints — for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  I  found  her  indisput- 
ably crossish.  It  was  an  ill  time  to  relate  my  adventures.  I 
had  enough  to  do  to  listen.  They  had  all  day  been  hunting 
for  lodgings  in  vain.  My  father's  pocket  had  been  picked  of 
a  new  India  handkerchief.  Primmins,  who  ought  to  know 
London  so  well,  knew  nothing  about  it,  and  declared  it  was 
turned  topsy-turvy,  and  all  the  streets  had  changed  names. 
The  new  silk  umbrella,  left  for  five  minutes  unguarded  in  the 
hall,  had  been  exchanged  for  an  old  gingham  with  three  holes 
in  it. 

It  was  not  till  my  mother  remembered,  that  if  she  did  not 
see  herself  that  my  bed  was  well  aired,  I  should  certainly  lose 
the  use  of  my  limbs,  and  therefore  disappeared  with  Primmins 
and  a  pert  chambermaid,  who  seemed  to  think  we  gave  more 
trouble  than  we  were  worth — that  I  told  my  father  of  my  new 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Trevanion. 

He  did  not  seem  to  listen  to  me  till  I  got  to  the  name 
Trevanion.  He  then  became  very  pale,  and  sat  down  quietly. 
"  Go  on,"  said  he,  observing  I  stopped  to  look  at  him. 

When  I  had  told  all,  and  given  him  the  kind  messages  with 


no  THE   CAXTONSi. 

which  I  had  been  charged  by  husband  and  wife,  he  smiled 
faintly :  and  then,  shading  his  face  with  his  hand,  he  seemed 
to  muse,  not  cheerfully,  perhaps,  for  I  heard  him  sigh  once  or 
twice. 

"  And  Ellinor,"  said  he  at  last,  without  looking  up.  "  Lady 
Ellinor,  I  mean — she  is  very,  very — " 

"  Very  what,  sir?" 

"  Very  handsome  still  ? " 

"  Handsome !  Yes,  handsome,  certainly  ;  but  I  thought 
more  of  her  manner  than  her  face.  And  then  Fanny,  Miss 
Fanny  is  so  young  !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  my  father,  murmuring  in  Greek  the  celebrated 
lines  of  which  Pope's  translation  is  familiar  to  all : 

"  Like  leaves  on  trees  the  race  of  man  is  found, 
Now  green  in  youth,  now  withering  on  the  ground." 

♦•  Well,  SO  they  wish  to  see  me.  Did  Ellinor,  Lady  Ellinor^ 
say  that,  or  her — her  husband  ? " 

"  Her  husband  certainly — Lady  Ellinor  rather  implied  than 
said  it." 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  my  father.  "  Open  the  window,  this 
room  is  stifling." 

I  opened  the  window  which  looked  on  the  Strand.  The 
noise,  the  voices,  the  trampling  feet,  the  rolling  wheels  be- 
came loudly  audible.  My  father  leant  out  for  some  moments, 
and  I  stood  by  his  side.  He  turned  to  me  with  a  serene  face. 
"  Every  ant  on  the  hill,"  said  he,  "carries  its  load,  and  its 
home  is  but  made  by  the  burden  that  it  bears.  How  happy 
am  I  !  How  I  should  bless  God  !  How  light  my  burden  ! 
How  secure  my  home  !  " 

My  mother  came  in  as  he  ceased.  He  went  up  to  her,  put 
his  arm  round  her  waist,  and  kissed  her.  Such  caresses  with 
him  had  not  lost  their  tender  charm  by  custom  :  my  mother's 
brow,  before  somewhat  ruffled,  grew  smooth  on  the  instant. 
Yet  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  in  soft  surprise.  "  I  was  but 
thinking,"  said  my  father  apologetically,  "  how  much  I  owed 
you,  and  how  much  I  love  you  !  " 


CHAPTER  IL 

And  now  behold  us,  three  days  after  my  arrival,  settled  in 
all  the  state  and  grandeur  of  our  own  house  in  Russell  Street, 
Bloomsbury  :  the  library  of  the  Museum  close  at  hand.     My 


THE   CAXTONS.  1 1  It 

father  spends  his  mornings  in  those  lata  silentia,  as  Virgil  calls 
the  world  beyond  the  grave.  And  a  world  beyond  the  grave 
we  may  well  call  that  land  of  the  ghosts,  a  book  collection. 

**  Pisistratus,"  said  my  father,  one  evening  as  he  arranged 
his  notes  before  him,  and  rubbed  his  spectacles.  "  Pisistratus, 
a  great  library  is  an  awful  place  !  There  are  interred  all  the 
remains  of  men  since  the  Flood." 

"  It  is  a  burial-place  !  "  quoth  my  Uncle  Roland,  who  had 
that  day  found  us  out. 

"It  is  an  Heraclea  !  "  said  my  father. 

"  Please,  not  such  hard  words,"  said  the  captain,  shaking  his 
head. 

"  Heraclea  was  the  city  of  necromancers,  in  which  they 
raised  the  dead.  Do  I  want  to  speak  to  Cicero  ?  I  invoke 
him.  Do  I  want  to  chat  in  the  Athenian  market-place,  and 
hear  news  two  thousand  years  old  ?  I  write  down  my  charm 
on  a  slip  of  paper,  and  a  grave  magician  calls  me  up  Aristoph- 
anes.    And  we  owe  all  this  to  our  ancest — " 

"  Brother  !  " 

"  Ancestors,  who  wrote  books — thank  you." 

Here  Roland  offered  his  snuff-box  to  my  father,  who,  ab- 
horring snuff,  benignly  imbibed  a  pinch,  and  sneezed  five  times 
in  consequence  :  an  excuse  for  Uncle  Roland  to  say,  which  he 
did  five  times,  with  great  unction  :  "God  bless  you,  Brother 
Austin  !  " 

As  soon  as  my  father  had  recovered  himself,  he  proceeded, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  but  calm  as  before  the  interruption,  for 
he  was  of  the  philosophy  of  the  Stoics  : 

"  But  it  is  not  that  which  is  awful.  It  is  the  presuming  to 
vie  with  these  '  spirits  elect ' :  to  say  to  them,  '  Make  way,  I 
too  claim  place  with  the  chosen — I  too  would  confer  with  the 
living,  centuries  after  the  death  that  consumes  my  dust — I 
too* — Ah,  Pisistratus  !  I  wish  Uncle  Jack  had  been  at  Jericho 
before  he  had  brought  me  up  to  London,  and  placed  me  in  the 
midst  of  those  rulers  of  the  world  !  " 

I  was  busy,  while  my  father  spoke,  in  making  some  pendent 
shelves  for  these  "spirits  elect";  for  my  mother,  always 
provident  where  my  father's  comforts  were  concerned,  had 
foreseen  the  necessity  of  some  such  accommodation  in  a  hired 
lodging-house,  and  had  not  only  carefully  brought  up  to  town 
my  little  box  of  tools,  but  gone  out  herself  that  morning  to  buy 
the  raw  materials.  Checking  the  plane  in  its  progress  over 
the  smooth  deal  :  "  My  dear  father,"  said  I,  '*  if  at  the  Phil- 
hellenic Institute  I  had  looked  with  as  much  awe  as  you  do  on 


112  THE   CAXTONS, 

ihe  big  fellows  that  had  gone  before  me,  I  should  have  stayed, 
to  all  eternity,  the  lag  of  the  Infant  Division — " 

"  Pisistratus,  you  are  as  great  an  agitator  as  your  namesake," 
cried  my  father,  smiling,     "  And  so,  a  fig  for  the  big  fellows  !  " 

And  now  my  mother  entered  in  her  pretty  evening  cap,  all 
smiles  and  good  humor,  having  just  arranged  a  room  for  Uncle 
Roland,  concluded  advantageous  negotiations  with  the  laun- 
dress, held  high  council  with  Mrs.  Primmins  on  the  best  mode 
of  defeating  the  extortions  of  London  tradesmen  ;  and,  pleased 
with  herself  and  all  the  world,  she  kissed  my  father's  forehead 
as  it  bent  over  his  notes  ;  and  came  to  the  tea-table,  which 
only  waited  its  presiding  deity.  My  Uncle  Roland,  with  his 
usual  gallantry,  started  up,  kettle  in  hand  (our  own  urn — for 
we  had  one — not  being  yet  unpacked),  and  having  performed, 
with  soldier-like  method,  the  chivalrous  office  thus  volunteered, 
he  joined  me  at  my  employment,  and  said  : 

"  There  is  a  better  steel  for  the  hands  of  a  well-born  lad  than 
a  carpenter's  plane — " 

"  Aha  !  uncle — that  depends — " 

"  Depends  !     What  on  ?  " 

"  On  the  use  one  makes  of  it.  Peter  the  Great  was  better 
employed  in  making  ships  than  Charles  XII.  in  cutting  throats," 

**  Poor  Charles  XII.  !  "  said  my  uncle,  sighing  pathetically — 
"  a  very  brave  fellow  !  " 

"  Pity  he  did  not  like  the  ladies  a  little  better  !  " 

"  No  man  is  perfect !  "  said  my  uncle  sententiously.  "  But, 
seriously,  you  are  now  the  male  hope  of  the  family  ;  you  are 
now — "  my  uncle  stopped  and  his  face  darkened.  I  saw  that 
he  thought  of  his  son — that  mysterious  son  !  And,  looking  at 
him  tenderly,  I  observed  that  his  deep  lines  had  grown  deeper, 
his  iron-gray  hair  more  gray.  There  was  the  trace  of  recent 
suffering  on  his  face ;  and  though  he  had  not  spoken  to  us  a 
word  of  the  business  on  which  he  had  left  us,  it  required  no 
penetration  to  perceive  that  it  had  come  to  no  successful 
issue. 

My  uncle  resumed  :  "  Time  out  of  mind,  every  generation 
of  our  house  has  given  one  soldier  to  his  country.  I  look 
round  now  :  only  one  branch  is  budding  yet  on  the  old  tree  ; 
and—" 

"  Ah  !  "  uncle.  But  what  would  they  say?  Do  you  think  I 
should  not  like  to  be  a  soldier  ?     Don't  tempt  me  !  " 

My  uncle  had  recourse  to  his  snuff-box  :  and  at  that  moment, 
unfortunately,  perhaps,  for  the  laurels  that  might  otherwise 
have  wreathed  the  brows  of  Pisistratus  of  England,  private 


THE    CAXTONS.  II3 

conversation  was  stopped  by  the  sudden  and  noisy  entrance 
of  Uncle  Jack.  No  apparition  could  have  been  more  unex- 
pected. 

"  Here  I  am,  my  dear  friends.  How  d'ye  do — how  are  you 
all  ?  Captain  de  Caxton,  yours  heartily.  Yes,  I  am  released, 
thank  Heaven  !  I  have  given  up  the  drudgery  of  that  pitiful 
provincial  paper.  I  was  not  made  for  it.  An  ocean  in  a  tea- 
cup !  I  was  indeed — little,  sordid,  narrow  interests — and  I, 
whose  heart  embraces  all  humanity.  You  might  as  well  turn 
a  circle  into  an  isolated  triangle." 

"  Isosceles  !  "  said  my  father,  sighing  as  he  pushed  aside  his 
notes,  and  very  slowly  becoming  aware  of  the  eloquence  that 
destroyed  all  chance  of  further  progress  that  night  in  the  Great 
Book.     "  Isosceles  triangle.  Jack  Tibbets — not  isolated." 

"  Isosceles  or  isolated,  it  is  all  one,"  said  Uncle  Jack,  as  he 
rapidly  performed  three  evolutions,  by  no  means  consistent 
with  his  favorite  theory  of  "  the  greatest  happiness  of  the 
greatest  number  ":  first,  he  emptied  into  the  cup,  which  he  took 
from  my  mother's  hands,  half  the  thrifty  contents  of  a  London 
cream-jug  ;  secondly,  he  reduced  the  circle  of  a  muffin,  by  the 
abstraction  of  three  triangles,  to  as  nearly  an  isosceles  as  pos- 
sible ;  and  thirdly,  striding  towards  the  fire,  lighted  in  consid- 
eration of  Captain  de  Caxton,  and  hooking  his  coat-tails  under 
his  arms,  while  he  sipped  his  tea,  he  permitted  another  circle 
peculiar  to  humanity  wholly  to  eclipse  the  luminary  it  ap- 
proached. 

"  Isolated  or  isosceles,  it  is  all  the  same  thing.  Man  is  made 
for  his  fellow-creatures.  I  had  long  been  disgusted  with  the 
interference  of  those  selfish  Squirearchs.  Your  departure 
decided  me.  I  have  concluded  negotiations  with  a  London 
firm  of  spirit  and  capital,  and  extended  views  of  philanthropy. 
On  Saturday  last  I  retired  from  the  service  of  the  oligarchy, 
I  am  now  in  my  true  capacity  of  protector  of  the  million.  My 
prospectus  is  printed — here  it  is  in  my  pocket.  Another  cup 
of  tea,  sister,  a  little  more  cream,  and  another  muffin.  Shall  I 
ring  ? "  Having  disembarrassed  himself  of  his  cup  and  saucer, 
Uncle  Jack  then  drew  forth  from  his  pocket  a  damp  sheet  of 
printed  paper.  In  large  capitals  stood  out  **  The  Anti-Mo- 
nopoly Gazette,  or  Popular  Champion."  He  waved  it  tri- 
umphantly before  my  father's  eyes. 

"  Pisistratus,"  said  my  father,  "  look  here.  This  is  the  way 
your  Uncle  Jack  now  prints  his  pats  of  butter.  A  cap  of  lib- 
erty growing  out  of  an  open  book !  Good  !  Jack — good  ! 
good  ! " 


114  I'HJi   CAXTONS. 

"  It  is  Jacobinical  !  "  exclaimed  the  Captain. 

"  Very  likely,"  said  my  father  ;  "  but  knowledge  and  freedom 
are  the  best  devices  in  the  world,  to  print  upon  pats  of  butter 
intended  for  the  market." 

"  Pats  of  butter  !     I  don't  understand,"  said  Uncle  Jack. 

"  The  less  you  understand,  the  better  will  the  butter  sell, 
Jack,"  said  my  father,  settling  back  to  his  notes. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Uncle  Jack  had  made  up  his  mind  to  lodge  with  us,  and 
my  mother  found  some  difficulty  in  inducing  him  to  compre- 
hend that  there  was  no  bed  to  spare. 

"  That's  unlucky,"  said  he.  "  I  had  no  sooner  arrived  in 
town  than  I  was  pestered  with  invitations  ;  but  I  refused  them 
all,  and  kept  myself  for  you." 

"  So  kind  in  you  !  So  like  you  !  "  said  my  mother  ;  "but 
you  see — " 

"Well,  then,  I  must  be  off  and  find  a  room.  Don't  fret,  you 
know  I  can  breakfast  and  dine  with  you,  all  the  same  ;  that 
is,  when  my  other  friends  will  let  me.  I  shall  be  dreadfully 
persecuted."  So  saying.  Uncle  Jack  re-pocketed  his  pro- 
spectus, and  wished  us  good-night. 

The  clock  had  struck  eleven  ;  my  mother  had  retired  ;  when 
my  father  looked  up  from  his  books,  and  returned  his  spec- 
tacles to  their  case.  I  had  finished  my  work,  and  was  seated 
over  the  fire,  thinking  now  of  Fanny  Trevanion's  hazel  eyes, 
now,  with  a  heart  that  beat  as  high  at  the  thought,  of  cam- 
paigns, battle-fields,  laurels,  and  glory  ;  while,  with  his  arms 
folded  on  his  breast  and  his  head  drooping,  Uncle  Roland 
gazed  into  the  low,  clear  embers.  My  father  cast  his  eyes 
round  the  room,  and,  after  surveying  his  brother  for  some 
moments,  he  said,  almost  in  a  whisper  : 

"  My  .son  has  seen  the  Trevanions.  They  remember  us, 
Roland." 

The  Captain  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  began  whistling ;  a  habit 
with  him  when  he  was  much  disturbed. 

"And  Trevanion  wishes  to  see  u.s.  Pisistratus  promised  to 
give  him  our  address  ;  shall  he  do  so,  Roland  ? " 

"If  you  like  it,"  answered  the  Captain,  in  a  military  attitude, 
and  drawing  himself  up  till  he  looked  seven  feet  high. 

"  I  should  like  it,"  said  my  father  mildly.  "  Twenty  years 
since  we  met." 


'tut   CAXTONS.  IJ5 

"  More  than  twenty,"  said  my  uncle,  with  a  stern  smile  ; 
"  and  the  season  was — ^the  fall  of  the  leaf  !  " 

"  Man  renews  the  fibre  and  material  of  his  body  every  seven 
years,"  said  my  father  ;  "  in  three  times  seven  years  he  has 
time  to  renew  the  inner  man.  Can  two  passengers  in  yonder 
street  be  more  unlike  each  other  than  the  soul  is  to  the  soul 
after  an  interval  of  twenty  years  ?  Brother,  the  plough  does 
not  pass  over  the  soil  in  vain,  nor  care  over  the  human  heart. 
New  crops  change  the  character  of  the  land  ;  and  the  plough 
must  go  deep  indeed  before  it  stirs  up  the  mother-stone." 

"  Let  us  see  Trevanion,"  cried  my  uncle  :  then,  turning  to 
me,  he  said  abruptly,  "What  family  has  he  ?" 

"One  daughter." 

"  No  son?" 

"  No." 

"  That  must  vex  the  poor,  foolish,  ambitious  man.  Oho  ! 
you  admire  this  Mr.  Trevanion  much,  eh  ?  Yes,  that  fire  of 
manner,  his  fine  words,  and  bold  thoughts,  were  made  to  daz- 
zle youth." 

"  Fine  words,  my  dear  uncle  ! — fire  !  I  should  have  said,  in 
hearing  Mr.  Trevanion,  that  his  style  of  conversation  was  so 
homely,  you  would  wonder  how  he  could  have  won  such  fame 
as  a  public  speaker." 

"  Indeed  !  " 

"  The  plough  has  passed  there,"  said  my  father. 

"  But  not  the  plough  of  care  :  rich,  famous,  EUinor  his  wife, 
and  no  son  I  " 

"  It  is  because  his  heart  is  sometimes  sad  that  he  would  see 
us." 

Roland  started  first  at  my  father,  next  at  me.  "  Then," 
quoth  my  uncle  heartily,  "  in  God's  name,  let  him  come.  I 
can  shake  him  by  the  hand,  as  I  would  a  brother  soldier. 
Poor  Trevanion  !     Write  to  him  at  once,  Sisty." 

I  sat  down  and  obeyed.  When  I  had  sealed  my  letter,  I 
looked  up,  and  saw  that  Roland  was  lighting  his  bed-candle  at 
my  father's  table  ;  and  my  father,  taking  his  hand,  said  some- 
thing to  him  in  a  low  voice.  I  guessed  it  related  to  his  son, 
for  he  shook  his  head,  and  answered  in  a  stern,  hollow  voice  : 
"  Renew  grief  if  you  please, — not  shame.  On  that  subject- 
silence  ! " 


tl6  THE   CAXTONS. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Left  to  myself  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  day,  I  wandered, 
wistful  and  lonely,  through  the  vast  wilderness  of  London. 
By  degrees  I  familiarized  myself  with  that  populous  solitude. 
I  ceased  to  pine  for  the  green  fields.  That  active  energy  all 
around,  at  first  saddening,  became  soon  exhilarating,  and  at 
last  contagious.  To  an  industrious  mind,  nothing  is  so  catch- 
ing as  industry.  I  began  to  grow  weary  of  my  golden  holiday 
of  unlaborious  childhood,  to  sigh  for  toil,  to  look  around  me 
for  a  career.  The  University,  which  I  had  before  anticipated 
with  pleasure,  seemed  now  to  fade  into  a  dull  monastic  pros- 
pect :  after  having  trod  the  streets  of  London,  to  wander 
through  cloisters  was  to  go  back  in  life.  Day  by  day,  my  mind 
grew  sensibly  within  me  ;  it  came  out  from  the  rosy  twilight 
of  boyhood  ;  it  felt  the  doom  of  Cain,  under  the  broad  sun  of 
man. 

Uncle  Jack  soon  became  absorbed  in  his  new  speculation 
for  the  good  of  the  human  race,  and,  except  at  meals  (whereat, 
to  do  him  justice,  he  was  punctual  enough,  though  he  did  not 
keep  us  in  ignorance  of  the  sacrifices  he  made,  and  the  invita- 
tions he  refused,  for  our  sake),  we  seldom  saw  him.  The  Cap- 
tain, too,  generally  vanished  after  breakfast,  seldom  dined 
with  us,  and  it  was  often  late  before  he  returned.  He  had  the 
latch-key  of  the  house,  and  let  himself  in  when  he  pleased. 
Sometimes  (for  his  chamber  was  next  to  mine)  his  step  on  the 
stairs  awoke  me  ;  and  sometimes  I  heard  him  pace  his  room 
with  perturbed  strides,  or  fancied  that  I  caught  a  low  groan. 
He  became  every  day  more  careworn  in  appearance,  and  every 
day  the  hair  seemed  more  gray.  Yet  he  talked  to  us  all  easily 
and  cheerfully  ;  and  I  thought  that  I  was  the  only  one  in  the 
house  who  perceived  the  gnawing  pangs  over  which  the  stout 
old  Spartan  drew  the  decorous  cloak. 

Pity,  blended  with  admiration,  made  me  curious  to  learn 
how  these  absent  days,  that  brought  nights  so  disturbed,  were 
consumed.  I  felt  that,  if  I  could  master  the  Captain's  secret, 
I  might  win  the  right  both  to  comfort  and  to  aid. 

I  resolved  at  length,  after  many  conscientious  scruples,  to 
endeavor  to  satisfy  a  curiosity,  excused  by  its  motives. 

Accordingly,  one  morning,  after  watching  him  from  the 
house,  I  stole  in  his  track,  and  followed  him  at  a  distance. 

And  this  was  the  outline  of  his  day.  He  set  off  at  first  with 
a  firm  stride,  despite  his  lameness — his  gaunt  figure  erect,  the 


THE    CAXTONS.  117 

soldierly  chest  well  thrown  out  from  the  threadbare  but  speck- 
less  coat.  First,  he  took  his  way  towards  the  purlieus  of 
Leicester  Square ;  several  times,  to  and  fro,  did  he  pace  the 
isthmus  that  leads  from  Piccadilly  into  that  reservoir  of 
foreigners,  and  the  lanes  and  courts  that  start  thence  towards 
St.  Martin's.  After  an  hour  or  two  so  passed,  the  step  became 
more  slow  ;  and  often  the  sleek,  napless  hat  was  lifted  up,  and 
the  brow  wiped.  At  length  he  bent  his  way  towards  the  two 
great  theatres,  paused  before  the  play-bills,  as  if  deliberating 
seriously  on  the  chances  of  entertainment  they  severally  prof- 
fered, wandered  slowly  through  the  small  streets  that  surround 
those  temples  of  the  Muse,  and  finally  emerged  into  the  Strand. 
There  he  rested  himself  for  an  hour,  at  a  small  cook-shop,  and, 
as  I  passed  the  window  and  glanced  within,  I  could  see  him 
seated  before  the  simple  dinner,  which  he  scarcely  touched,  and 
poring  over  the  advertisement  columns  of  the  Times.  The 
Times  finished,  and  a  few  morsels  distastefully  swallowed,  the 
Captain  put  down  his  shilling  in  silence,  receiving  his  pence  in 
exchange,  and  I  had  just  time  to  slip  aside  as  he  reappeared 
at  the  threshold.  He  looked  round  as  he  lingered,  but  I  took 
care  he  should  not  detect  me  ;  and  then  struck  off  towards  the 
more  fashionable  quarters  of  the  town.  It  was  now  the  after- 
noon, and,  though  not  yet  the  season,  the  streets  swarmed 
with  life.  As  he  came  into  Waterloo  Place,  a  slight  but  mus- 
cular figure,  buttoned  up  across  the  breast,  like  his  own,  can- 
tered by  on  a  handsome  bay  horse — every  eye  was  on  that 
figure.  Uncle  Roland  stopped  short,  and  lifted  his  hand  to 
his  hat ;  the  rider  touched  his  own  with  his  forefinger,  and 
cantered  on — Uncle  Roland  turned  round  and  gazed. 

"  Who,"  I  asked,  of  a  shop-boy  just  before  me,  also  staring 
with  all  his  eyes,  "  who  is  that  gentleman  on  horseback  ? " 

"  Why,  the  Duke  to  be  sure,"  said  the  boy  contemptuously. 

"The  Duke?" 

"  Wellington — stu-pid  ! " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I  meekly.  Uucle  Roland  had  moved  on 
into  Regent  Street,  but  with  a  brisker  step  :  the  sight  of  the 
old  chief  had  done  the  old  soldier  good.  Here  again  he  paced 
to  and  fro  ;  till  I,  watching  him  from  the  other  side  of  the  way, 
was  ready  to  drop  with  fatigue,  stout  walker  though  I  was. 
But  the  Captain's  day  was  not  half  done.  He  took  out  his 
watch,  put  it  to  his  ear,  and  then,  replacing  it,  passed  into 
Bond  Street,  and  thence  into  Hyde  Park.  There,  evidently 
wearied  out,  he  leant  against  the  rails,  near  the  bronze  statue, 
in  an  attitude  that  spoke  despondency.     I  seated  myself  on 


Il8  THE     CAXTONS. 

the  grass  near  the  statue,  and  gazed  at  him  :  the  park  was 
empty  compared  with  the  streets,  but  still  there  were  some 
equestrian  idlers,  and  many  foot-loungers.  My  uncle's  eye 
turned  wistfully  on  each  :  once  or  twice,  some  gentleman  of  a 
military  aspect  (which  I  had  already  learned  to  detect)  stopped, 
looked  at  him,  approached,  and  spoke  ;  but  the  Captain  seemed 
as  if  ashamed  of  such  greetings.  He  answered  shortly,  and 
turned  again. 

The  day  waned,  evening  came  on  ;  the  Captain  again  looked 
at  his  watch,  shook  his  head,  and  made  his  way  to  a  bench, 
where  he  sat  perfectly  motionless  ;  his  hat  over  his  brows,  his 
arms  folded  ;  till  uprose  the  moon.  I  had  tasted  nothing  since 
breakfast ;  I  was  famished,  but  I  still  kept  my  post  like  an 
old  Roman  sentinel. 

At  length  the  Captain  rose,  and  re-entered  Piccadilly  ;  but 
how  different  his  mien  and  bearing  !  Languid,  stooping,  his 
chest  sunk,  his  head  inclined,  his  limbs  dragging  one  after  the 
other,  his  lameness  painfully  perceptible.  What  a  contrast  in 
the  broken  invalid  at  night  from  the  stalwart  veteran  of  the 
morning  ! 

How  I  longed  to  spring  forward  to  offer  my  arm  !  but  I  did 
not  dare. 

The  Captain  stopped  near  a  cabstand.  He  put  his  hand  in 
his  pocket  ;  he  drew  out  his  purse  ;  he  passed  his  fingers  over 
the  network  ;  the  purse  slipped  again  into  the  pocket,  and,  as 
if  with  a  heroic  effort,  my  uncle  drew  up  his  head,  and  walked 
on  sturdily. 

"  Where  next  ? "  thought  I.  "  Surely  home  !  No,  he  is 
pitiless  !  " 

The  Captain  stopped  not  till  he  arrived  at  one  of  the  small 
theatres  in  the  Strand  ;  then  he  read  the  bill,  and  asked  if 
half-price  was  begun.  "  Just  begun,"  was  the  answer,  and  the 
Captain  entered.  I  also  took  a  ticket  and  followed.  Passing 
by  the  open  doors  of  a  refreshment-room,  I  fortified  myself 
with  some  biscuits  and  soda-water.  And  in  another  minute, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  beheld  a  play.  But  the  play  did 
not  fascinate  me.  It  was  the  middle  of  some  jocular  after- 
piece ;  roars  of  laughter  resounded  round  me.  I  could  detect 
nothing  to  laugh  at,  and  sending  my  keen  eyes  into  every 
corner,  I  perceived  at  last,  in  the  uppermost  tier,  one  face  as 
saturnine  as  my  own.  Eureka  !  It  was  the  Captain's  !  *'  Why 
should  he  goto  a  play  if  he  enjoys  it  so  little!"  thought  I ; 
"  better  have  spent  a  shilling  on  a  cab,  poor  old  fellow  !  " 

But  soon  came  smart-looking  men,  arid  still  smarter-looking 


THE     CAXTONS.  II9 

ladies,  around  the  solitary  corner  of  tlie  poor  Captain.  He 
grew  fidgety  ;  he  rose  ;  he  vanislied.  I  left  my  place,  and 
stood  without  the  box  to  watch  for  him.  Downstairs  he 
Slumped  ;  I  recoiled  into  the  shade  ;  and  after  standing  a 
moment  or  two,  as  in  doubt,  he  entered  boldly  the  refresh- 
ment room  or  saloon. 

Now,  since  I  had  left  that  saloon  it  had  became  crowded,  and 
I  slipped  in  unobserved.  Strange  was  it,  grotesque,  yet  pathetic, 
to  mark  the  old  soldier  in  the  midst  of  that  gay  swarm.  He 
towered  above  all  like  a  Homeric  hero,  a  head  taller  than 
the  tallest ;  and  his  appearance  was  so  remarkable,  that  it 
invited  the  instant  attention  of  the  fair.  I,  in  my  simplicity, 
thought  it  was  the  natural  tenderness  of  that  amiable  and 
penetrating  sex,  ever  quick  to  detect  trouble  and  anxious  to 
relieve  it,  which  induced  three  ladies,  in  silk  attire — one  hav- 
ing a  hat  and  plume,  the  other  two  with  a  profusion  of  ring- 
lets— to  leave  a  little  knot  of  gentlemen  with  whom  they  were 
conversing,  and  to  plant  themselves  before  my  uncle.  I 
advanced  through  the  press  to  hear  what  passed. 

"You  are  looking  for  some  one,  I'm  sure,"  quoth  one 
familiarly,  tapping  his  arm  with  her  fan. 

The  Captain  started.    "  Ma'am,  you  are  not  wrong,"  said  he. 

"  Can  I  do  as  well  ?  "  said  one  of  those  compassionate  angels, 
with  heavenly  sweetness. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  I  thank  you  ;  no,  no,  ma'am,"  said  the 
Captain  with  his  best  bow. 

"  Do  take  a  glass  of  negus,"  said  another,  as  her  friend  gave 
way  to  her.  "  You  seem  tired,  and  so  am  I.  Here,  this  way  "; 
and  she  took  hold  of  his  arm  to  lead  him  to  the  table.  The 
Captain  shcok  his  head  mournfully  ;  and  then,  as  if  suddenly 
aware  of  the  nature  of  the  attentions  so  lavished  on  him,  he 
looked  down  upon  these  fair  Armidas  with  a  look  of  such  mild 
reproach,  such  sweet  compassion — not  shaking  off  the  hand, 
in  his  chivalrous  devotion  to  the  sex  which  extended  even  to 
all  its  outcasts — that  each  bold  eye  fell  abashed.  The  hand 
was  timidly  and  involuntarily  withdrawn  from  the  arm,  and  my 
uncle  passed  his  way. 

He  threaded  the  crowd,  passed  out  at  the  further  door,  and 
I,  guessing  his  intention,  was  in  waiting  for  his  steps  in  the 
street. 

"  Now  home  at  last,  thank  Heaven  !  "  thought  I.  Mistaken 
still  !  My  uncle  went  first  towards  that  popular  haunt,  which 
I  have  since  discovered  is  called  "  the  Shades  ";  but  he  soon 
re-emerged,  and  finally  he  knocked  at  the  door  of  a  private 


ISO  THE    CAXTONS. 

house,  in  one  of  the  streets  out  of  St.  James's,  It  was  opened 
jealously,  and  closed  as  he  entered,  leaving  me  without.  What 
could  this  house  be  !  As  I  stood  and  watched,  some  other 
men  approached  ;  again  the  low,  single  knock  :  again  the  jeal- 
ous opening,  and  the  stealthy  entrance. 

A  policeman  passed  and  repassed  me.  "  Don't  be  tempted, 
young  man,"  said  he,  looking  hard  at  me  :  "  take  my  advice 
and  go  home." 

"  What  is  that  house,  then  ? "  said  I,  with  a  sort  of  shudder 
at  this  ominous  warning. 

"Oh,  you  know." 

"  Not  I.     I  am  new  to  London." 

"  It  is  a  hell,"  said  the  policeman — satisfied,  by  my  frank 
manner,  that  I  spoke  the  truth. 

"  God  bless  me — a  what  !  I  could  not  have  heard  you 
rightly  ? " 

"  A  hell  ;  a  gambling-house  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  and  I  moved  on.  Could  Captain  Roland,  the  rigid, 
the  thrifty,  the  penurious,  be  a  gambler  ?  The  light  broke  on 
me  at  once  ;  the  unhappy  father  sought  his  son  !  I  leant 
against  the  post,  and  tried  hard  not  to  sob. 

By  and  by,  I  heard  the  door  open  :  the  Captain  came  out 
and  took  the  way  homeward.  I  ran  on  before,  and  got  in  first, 
to  the  inexpressible  relief  both  of  father  and  mother,  who  had 
not  seen  me  since  breakfast,  and  who  were  in  equal  consterna- 
tion at  my  absence.  I  submitted  to  be  scolded  with  a  good 
grace,  "I  had  been  sight-seeing,  and  lost  my  way";  begged 
for  some  supper,  and  slunk  to  bed  ;  and  five  minutes  after- 
wards the  Captain's  jaded  step  came  wearily  up  the  stairs. 


PART  SIXTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

*  I  don't  know  that,"  said  my  father. 

What  is  it  my  father  does  not  know  ?  My  father  does  not 
know  that  "happiness  is  our  being's  end  and  aim." 

And  pertinent  to  what  does  my  father  reply,  by  words  so 
sceptical,  to  an  assertion  so  seldom  disputed? 

Reader,  Mr.  Trevanion  has  been  half  an  hour  seated  in  our 


THE    CAXTONS.  121 

little  drawing-room.  He  has  received  two  cups  of  tea  from  my 
mother's  fair  hand  ;  he  has  made  himself  at  home.  With  Mr. 
Trevanion  has  come  another  old  friend  of  my  father's  whom  he 
has  not  seen  since  he  left  college — Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert. 

Now,  you  must  understand  that  it  is  a  warm  night,  a  little 
after  nine  o'clock — a  night  between  departing  summer  and 
approaching  autumn.  The  windows  are  open  ;  we  have  a  bal- 
cony, which  my  mother  has  taken  care  to  fill  with  flowers  ;  the 
air,  though  we  are  in  London,  is  sweet  and  fresh,  the  street 
quiet,  except  that  an  occasional  carriage  or  hackney  cabriolet 
rolls  rapidly  by  ;  a  few  stealthy  passengers  pass  to  and  fro 
noiselessly  on  their  way  homeward.  We  are  on  classic  ground, 
near  that  old  and  venerable  Museum,  the  dark  monastic  pile 
which  the  taste  of  the  age  had  spared  then,  and  the  quiet  of 
the  temple  seems  to  hallow  the  precincts.  Captain  Roland  is 
seated  by  the  fireplace,  and,  though  there  is  no  fire,  he  is 
shading  his  face  with  a  hand-screen  ;  my  father  and  Mr.  Tre- 
vanion have  drawn  their  chairs  close  to  each  other  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  ;  Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert  leans  against  the 
wall  near  the  window,  and  behind  my  mother,  who  looks  pret- 
tier and  more  pleased  than  usual,  since  her  Austin  has  his  old 
friends  about  him  ;  and  I,  leaning  my  elbow  on  the  table,  and 
my  chin  upon  my  hand,  am  gazing  with  great  admiration  on 
Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert. 

O  rare  specimen  of  a  race  fast  decaying  !  — specimen  of  the 
true  fine  gentleman,  ere  the  word  dandy  was  known,  and 
before  exquisite  became  a  noun  substantive — let  me  here  pause 
to  describe  thee  !  Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert  was  the  contempo- 
rary of  Trevanion  and  my  father  ;  but,  without  affecting  to  be 
young,  he  still  seemed  so.  Dress,  tone,  look,  manner,  all  were 
young,  yet  all  had  a  certain  dignity  which  does  not  belong  to 
youth.  At  the  age  of  five-and-twenty  he  had  won  what  would 
have  been  fame  to  a  French  marquis  of  the  old  rigime,  viz., 
the  reputation  of  being  *'  the  most  charming  man  of  his  day  " — 
the  most  popular  of  our  sex,  the  most  favored,  my  dear 
lady-reader,  by  yours.  It  is  a  mistake,  I  believe,  to  suppose 
that  it  does  not  require  talent  to  become  the  fashion  ;  at  all 
events  Sir  Sedley  was  the  fashion,  and  he  had  talent.  He  had 
travelled  much,  he  had  read  much,  especially  in  memoirs, 
history,  and  belles-lettres ;  he  made  verses  with  grace  and  a 
certain  originality  of  easy  wit  and  courtly  sentiment  ;  he  con- 
versed delightfully  ;  he  was  polished  and  urbane  in  manner  ; 
he  was  brave  and  honorable  in  conduct ;  in  words  he  could 
flatter,  in  deeds  he  was  sincere. 


122  THE   CAXTONS. 

Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert  had  never  married.  Whatever  his 
years,  he  was  still  young  enough  in  looks  to  be  married  for 
love.  He  was  high-born,  he  was  rich  ;  he  was,  as  I  have  said, 
popular  ;  yet  on  his  fair  features  there  was  an  expression  of 
melancholy  ;  and  on  that  forehead — pure  from  the  lines  of 
ambition,  and  free  from  the  weight  of  study — there  was  the 
shadow  of  unmistakable  regret. 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  said  my  father  ;  "  I  have  never  yet 
found  in  life  one  man  who  made  happiness  his  end  and  aim. 
One  wants  to  gain  a  fortune,  another  to  spend  it  ;  one  to  get 
a  place,  another  to  build  a  name  ;  but  they  all  know  very  well 
that  it  is  not  happiness  they  search  for.  No  Utilitarian  was 
ever  actuated  by  self-interest,  poor  man,  when  he  sat  down  to 
scribble  his  unpopular  crotchets  to  prove  self-interest  univensal. 
And  as  to  that  notable  distinction  between  self-interest  vulgar 
and  self-interest  enlightened,  the  more  the  self-interest  is 
enlightened,  the  less  we  are  influenced  by  it.  If  you  tell  the 
young  man  who  has  just  written  a  fine  book  or  made  a  fine 
speech,  that  he  will  not  be  any  happier,  if  he  attain  to  the  fame 
of  Milton  or  the  power  of  Pitt,  and  that,  for  the  sake  of  his 
own  happiness,  he  had  much  better  cultivate  a  farm,  live  in  the 
country,  and  postpone  to  the  last  the  days  of  dyspepsia  and 
gout,  he  will  answer  you  fairly  :  *  I  am  quite  as  sensible  of  that 
as  you  are.  But  I  am  not  thinking  whether  or  not  I  shall  be 
happy.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  be,  if  I  can,  a  great 
author  or  a  prime  minister.'  So  it  is  with  all  the  active  sons 
of  the  world.  To  push  on  is  the  law  of  nature.  And  you  can 
no  more  say  to  men  and  to  nations  than  to  children  :  *  Sit  still, 
and  don't  wear  out  your  shoes  ! '  " 

"  Then,"  said  Trevanion,  "  if  I  tell  you  I  am  not  happy, 
your  only  answer  is,  that  I  obey  an  inevitable  law." 

"  No  !  I  don't  say  that  it  is  an  inevitable  law  that  man  should 
not  be  happy  ;  but  it  is  an  inevitable  law  that  a  man,  in  spite 
of  himself,  should  live  for  something  higher  than  his  own  hap- 
piness. He  cannot  live  in  himself  or  for  himself,  however  ego- 
tistical he  may  try  to  be.  Every  desire  he  has  links  him  with 
others.     Man  is  not  a  machine,  he  is  a  part  of  one." 

"  True,  brother,  he  is  a  soldier,  not  an  army,"  said  Captain 
Roland. 

"  Life  is  a  drama,  not  a  monologue,"  pursued  my  father. 
"  Drama  is  derived  from  a  Greek  verb,  signifying  to  do.  Every 
actor  in  the  drama  has  something  to  do,  which  helps  on  the 
progress  of  the  whole  :  that  is  the  object  for  which  the  Author 
created   him.     Do  your  part,  and  let  the  Great  Play  get  on." 


THE    CAXTONS.  12$ 

"  Ah  !  *'  said  Trevanion  briskly,  "  but  to  do  the  part  is  the 
difficulty  !  Every  actor  helps  to  the  catastrophe,  and  yet  must 
do  his  part  without  knowing  how  all  is  to  end.  Shall  he  help 
the  curtain  to  fall  on  a  tragedy  or  a  comedy  ?  Come,  I  will 
tell  you  the  one  secret  of  my  public  life — that  which  explains 
all  its  failure  (for,  in  spite  of  my  position,  I  have  failed)  and 
its  regrets — /  wani  conviction  !  " 

"  Exactly,"  said  my  father  ;  "  because  to  every  question 
there  are  two  sides,  and  you  look  at  them  both." 
.  "  You  have  said  it,"  answered  Trevanion,  smiling  also. 
"  For  public  life  a  man  should  be  one-sided  ;  he  must  act  with 
a  party  ;  and  a  party  insists  that  the  shield  is  silver,  when,  if 
it  will  take'  the  trouble  to  turn  the  corner,  it  will  see  that  the 
reverse  of  the  shield  is  gold.  Woe  to  the  man  who  makes  that 
discovery  alone,  while  his  party  are  still  swearing  the  shield  is 
silver,  and  that  not  once  in  his  life,  but  every  night !  " 

*'  You  have  said  quite  enough  to  convince  me  that  you  ought 
not  to  belong  to  a  party,  but  not  enough  to  convince  me  why 
you  should  not  be  happy,"  said  my  father. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  said  Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert,  "  an  anec- 
dote of  the  first  Duke  of  Portland  ?  He  had  a  gallery  in  the 
great  stable  of  his  villa  in  Holland,  where  a  concert  was  given 
once  a  week,  to  c/ieer  and  amuse  his  horses  !  I  have  no  doubt 
the  horses  thrived  all  the  better  for  it.  What  Trevanion  wants 
is  a  concert  once  a  week.  With  him  it  is  always  saddle  and 
spur.  Yet,  after  all,  who  would  not  envy  him  ?  If  life  be  a 
drama,  his  name  stands  high  in  the  playbill,  and  is  printed  in 
fiapitals  on  the  walls." 

"  Envy  me  I "  cried  Trevanion — "  me  ! — no,  you  are  the  en- 
viable man — you  who  have  only  one  grief  in  the  world,  and 
that  so  absurd  a  one,  that  I  will  make  you  blush  by  disclosing 
it.  Hear,  O  sage  Austin  !  O  sturdy  Roland  !  Olivares  was 
haunted  by  a  spectre,  and  Sedley  Beaudesert  by  the  dread  of 
old  age  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  my  mother  seriously,  "  I  do  think  it  requires  a 
great  sense  of  religion,  or,  at  all  events,  children  of  one's  own, 
in  whom  one  is  young  again,  to  reconcile  oneself  to  becoming 
old." 

"  My  dear  ma'am,"  said  Sir  Sedley,  who  had  slightly  col- 
ored at  Trevanion's  charge,  but  had  now  recovered  his  easy 
self-possession,  "  you  have  spoken  so  admirably  that  you  give 
me  courage  to  confess  my  weakness.  I  do  dread  to  be  old. 
All  the  joys  of  my  life  have  been  the  joys  of  youth.  I  have 
had  so  exquisite  a  plea-sure  in  the  m^re  sense  of  living,  that  old 


124  THE    CAXTONS. 

age,  as  it  comes  near,  terrifies  me  by  its  dull  eyes  and  gray 
hairs.  I  have  lived  the  life  of  the  butterfly.  Summer  is  over, 
and  I  see  my  flowers  withering  ;  and  my  wings  are  chilled  by 
the  first  airs  of  winter.  Yes,  I  envy  Trevanion  ;  for,  in  public 
life,  no  man  is  ever  young ;  and,  while  he  can  work,  he  is 
never  old." 

"  My  dear  Beaudesert,"  said  my  father,  "  when  St.  Amable, 
patron  saint  of  Riom,  in  Auvergne,  went  to  Rome,  the  sun 
waited  upon  him  as  a  servant,  carried  his  cloak  and  gloves  for 
him  in  the  heat,  and  kept  off  the  rain,  if  the  weather  changed, 
like  an  umbrella.  You  want  to  put  the  sun  to  the  same  use  ; 
you  are  quite  right  ;  but  then,  you  see,  you  must  first  be  a 
saint  before  you  can  be  sure  of  the  sun  as  a  servant." 

Sir  Sedley  smiled  charmingly ;  but  the  smile  changed  to  a 
sigh  as  he  added  :  "  I  don't  think  I  should  much  mind  being 
a  saint,  if  the  sun  would  be  my  sentinel  instead  of  my  courier. 
I  want  nothing  of  him  but  to  stand  still.  You  see  he  moved 
even  for  St.  Amable.  My  dear  madam,  you  and  I  understand 
each  other  ;  and  it  is  a  very  hard  thing  to  grow  old,  do  what 
one  will  to  keep  young." 

"  What  say  you,  Roland,  of  these  two  malcontents  ?  "  asked 
my  father.  The  Captain  turned  uneasily  in  his  chair,  for  the 
rheumatism  was  gnawing  his  shoulder,  and  sharp  pains  were 
shooting  through  his  mutilated  limb. 

*'  I  say,"  answered  Roland,  "  that  these  men  are  wearied 
with  marching  from  Brentford  to  Windsor — that  they  have 
never  known  the  bivouac  and  the  battle." 

Both  the  grumblers  turned  their  eyes  to  the  veteran  :  the 
eyes  rested  first  on  the  furrowed,  careworn  lines  in  his  eagle 
face,  then  they  fell  on  the  stiff,  outstretched  cork  limb — and 
then  they  turned  away. 

Meanwhile  my  mother  had  softly  risen,  and  under  pretence 
of  looking  for  her  work  on  the  table  near  him,  bent  over  the 
old  soldier  and  pressed  his  hand. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  my  father,  "  I  don't  think  my  brother 
ever  heard  of  Nichocorus,  the  Greek  comic  writer ;  yet  he  has 
illustrated  him  very  ably.  Saith  Nichocorus,  *  The  best  cure 
for  drunkenness  is  a  sudden  calamity.'  For  chronic  drunken- 
ness, a  continued  course  of  real  misfortune  must  be  very  salu- 
tary !  " 

No  answer  came  from  the  two  complainants  ;  and  my  father 
took  up  a  great  book. 


THE    CAXTONS.  125 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  My  friends,"  said  my  father,  looking  up  from  his  book,  and 
addressing  himself  to  his  two  visitors,  "  I  know  of  one  thing, 
milder  than  calamity,  that  would  do  you  both  a  great  deal  of 
good." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  asked  Sir  Sedley. 

"  A  saffron  bag,  worn  at  the  pit  of  the  stomach  ! " 

"  Austin,  my  dear  !  "  said  my  mother  reprovingly. 

My  father  did  not  heed  the  interruption,  but  continued 
gravely  :  "  Nothing  is  better  for  the  spirits  !  Roland  is  in  no 
want  of  saffron,  because  he  is  a  warrior  ;  and  the  desire  of 
fighting,  and  the  hope  of  victory,  infuse  such  a  heat  into  the 
spirits  as  is  profitable  for  long  life,  and  keeps  up  the  system." 

"  Tut  !  "  said  Trevanion. 

"  But  gentlemen  in  your  predicament  must  have  recourse  to 
artificial  means.  Nitre  in  broth,  for  instance,  about  three 
grains  to  ten  (cattle  fed  upon  nitre  grow  fat);  or  earthy  odors, 
such  as  exist  in  cucumbers  and  cabbage.  A  certain  great  lord 
had  a  clod  of  fresh  earth,  laid  in  a  napkin,  put  under  his  nose 
every  morning  after  sleep.  Light  anointing  of  the  head  with 
oil,  mixed  with  roses  and  salt,  is  not  bad  ;  but,  upon  the  whole, 
I  prescribe  the  saffron  bag  at  the — " 

''  Sisty,  my  dear,  will  you  look  for  my  scissors  ? "  said  my 
mother. 

"  What  nonsense  are  you  talking  !  Question  !  question  ! " 
cried  Mr.  Trevanion. 

"  Nonsense  ! "  exclaimed  my  father,  opening  his  eyes  ;  "  I  am 
giving  you  the  advice  of  Lord  Bacon.  You  want  conviction — 
conviction  comes  from  passion,  passion  from  the  spirits,  spirits 
from  a  saffron  bag.  You,  Beaudesert,  on  the  other  hand,  want 
to  keep  youth.  He  keeps  youth  longest  who  lives  longest. 
Nothing  more  conduces  to  longevity  than  a  saffron  bag,  pro- 
vided always  it  is  worn  at  the — " 

"  Sisty,  my  thimble  !  "  said  my  mother. 

"  You  laugh  at  us  justly,"  said  Beaudesert,  smiling  ;  "  and 
the  same  remedy,  I  dare  say,  would  cure  us  both  !  " 

'*  Yes,"  said  my  father,  "  there  is  no  doubt  of  that.  In  the 
pit  of  the  stomach  is  that  great  central  web  of  nerves  called  the 
ganglions ;  thence  they  affect  the  head  and  the  heart ;  Mr. 
Squills  proved  that  to  us,  Sisty." 

"  Yes,"  said  I  ;  "  but  I  never  heard  Mr.  Squills  talk  of  a 
saffron  bag." 


126  THE    CAXTONS. 

*'  Oh,  foolish  boy  !  it  is  not  the  saffron  bag,  it  is  the  belief 
in  the  saffron  bag.  Apply  belief  to  the  centre  of  the  nerves, 
and  all  will  go  well,"  said  my  father. 

CHAPTER   III. 

"  But  it  is  a  devil  of  a  thing  to  have  too  nice  a  conscience  ! " 
quoth  the  member  of  Parliament. 

"  And  it  is  not  an  angel  of  a  thing  to  lose  one's  front  teeth  !  " 
sighed  the  fine  gen.leman. 

Therewith  my  father  rose,  and,  putting  his  hand  into  his 
waistcoat,  more  suo,  delivered  his  famous 

SERMON    UPON     THE     CONNECTION     BETWEEN    FAITH    AND 
PURPOSE. 

Famous  it  was  in  our  domestic  circle.  But,  as  yet,  it  has 
not  gone  beyond.  And  since  the  reader,  I  am  sure,  does  not 
turn  to  the  Caxton  Memoirs  with  the  expectation  of  finding 
sermons,  so  to  that  circle  let  its  fame  be  circumscribed.  All  I 
shall  say  about  it  is  that  it  was  a  very  fine  sermon,  and  that  it 
proved  indisputably,  to  me,  at  least,  the  salubrious  effects  of 
a  saffron  bag  applied  to  the  great  centre  of  the  nervous  sys- 
tem. But  the  wise  Ali  saith,  that  "  a  fool  doth  not  know  what 
inaketh  him  look  little,  neither  will  he  hearken  to  him  that 
adviseth  him."  I  cannot  assert  that  my  father's  friends  were 
fools,  but  they  certainly  came  under  this  definition  of  Folly. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

For  therewith  arose,  not  conviction,  but  discussion  ;  Tre- 
vanion  was  logical,  Beaudesert  sentimental.  My  father  held 
firm  to  the  saffron  bag.  When  James  the  First  dedicated 
to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  his  meditation  on  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  he  gave  a  very  sensible  reason  for  selecting  his  grace 
for  that  honor  :  "  For,"  saith  the  king,  "  it  is  made  upon  a 
very  short  and  plaine  prayer,  and,  therefore,  the  fitter  for  a 
courtier,  for  courtiers  are  for  the  most  part  thought  neither  to 
have  lust  nor  leisure  to  say  long  prayers  ;  liking  best  coiirte 
messe  el  long  disner."  I  suppose  it  was  for  a  similar  reason 
that  my  father  persisted  in  dedicating  to  the  member  of  Parlia- 
ment and  the  fine  gentleman  this  "  short  and  plaine  "  moral- 
ity of  his — to  wit,  the  saffron  bag.  He  was  evidently  per- 
suaded, if  he  could  once  get  them  to  apply  that,  it  was  all  that 
was  needful  ;  that  they  had  neither  lust  nor  leisure  for  longer 
instructions.     And  this  saffron  bag — it  came  down  with  such 


THE    CAXTONS.  127 

a  whack,  at  every  round  of  the  argument  .  You  would  have 
thought  my  father  one  of  the  old  plebeian  combatants  in  the 
popular  ordeal,  who,  forbidden  to  use  sword  and  lance,  fought 
with  a  sandbag  tied  to  a  flail  ;  a  very  stunning  weapon  it  was 
when  filled  only  with  sand  ;  but  a  bag  filled  with  saffron — it  was 
irresistible  !  Though  my  father  had  two  to  one  against  him, 
they  could  stand  such  a  deuce  of  a  weapon.  And  after  tuts 
and  pishes  innumerable  from  Mr.  Trevanion,  and  sundry  bland 
grimaces  from  Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert,  they  fairly  gave  in, 
though  they  would  not  own  they  were  beaten. 

"  Enough,"  said  the  member,  "  I  see  that  you  don't  com- 
prehend me  ;  I  must  continue  to  move  by  my  own  impulse." 

My  father's  pet  book  was  the  Colloquies  of  Erasmus  ;  he 
was  wont  to  say  that  those  Colloquies  furnished  life  with  illus- 
trations in  every  page.  Out  of  the  Colloquies  of  Erasmus  he 
now  answered  the  member  : 

"  Rabirius,  wanting  his  servant  Syrus  to  get  up,"  quoth  my 
father,  "  cried  out  to  him  to  move.  *  1  do  move,'  said  Syrus. 
'I  see  you  move,' replied  Rabirius, 'but  you  move  nothing' 
To  return  to  the  saffron  bag — " 

"  Confound  the  saffron  bag  !  "  cried  Trevanion,  in  a  rage  ; 
and  then  softening  his  look  as  he  drew  on  his  gloves,  he  turned 
to  my  mother,  and  said,  with  more  politeness  than  was  natural 
to,  or  at  least  customary  with  him  : 

"  By  the  way,  my  dear  Mrs.  Caxton,  I  should  tell  you  that 
Lady  Ellinor  comes  to  town  to-morrow,  on  purpose  to  call  on 
you.  We  shall  be  here  some  little  time,  Austin  ;  and  though 
London  is  so  empty,  there  are  still  more  persons  of  note  to 
whom  I  should  like  to  introduce  you,  and  yours — " 

"  Nay,"  said  my  father  ;  "  your  world  and  my  world  are  not 
the  same.  Books  for  me,  and  men  for  you.  Neither  Kitty 
nor  I  can  change  our  habits,  even  for  friendship  ;  she  has  a 
great  piece  of  work  to  finish,  and  so  have  L  Mountains  can- 
not stir,  especially  when  in  labor  ;  but  Mahomet  can  come  to 
the  mountain  as  often  as  he  likes." 

Mr.  Trevanion  insisted,  and  Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert  mildly 
put  in  his  own  claims  ;  both  boasted  acquaintance  with  literary 
men,  whom  my  father  would,  at  all  events,  be  pleased  to  meet. 
My  father  doubted  whether  he  could  meet  any  literary  men 
more  eloquent  than  Cicero,  or  more  amusing  than  Aristophanes; 
and  observed  that,  if  such  did  exist,  he  would  rather  meet 
them  in  their  books  than  in  a  drawing-room.  In  fine,  he  was 
immovable  ;  and  so  also,  with  less  argument,  was  Captain 
Roland. 


128  THE    CAXTONS. 

Then  Mr.  Trevanion  turned  to  me. 

"  Your  son,  at  all  events,  should  see  something  of  the 
world." 

My  mother's  soft  eye  sparkled. 

"  My  dear  friend,  I  thank  you,"  said  my  father,  touched  ; 
"and  Pisistratus  and  I  will  talk  it  over." 

Our  guests  had  departed.  All  four  of  us  gathered  to  the 
open  window,  and  enjoyed  in  silence  the  cool  air  and  the 
moonlight. 

"  Austin,"  said  my  mother  at  last,  "  I  fear  it  is  for  my  sake 
that  you  refuse  going  amongst  your  old  friends  :  you  knew  I 
should  be  frightened  by  such  fine  people,  and — " 

"  And  we  have  been  happy  for  more  than  eighteen  years 
without  them,  Kitty  !  My  poor  friends  are  not  happy,  and 
we  are.  To  leave  well  alone  is  a  golden  rule  worth  all  in 
Pythagoras.  The  ladies  of  Bubastis,  my  dear,  a  place  in 
Egypt  where  the  cat  was  worshipped,  always  kept  rigidly 
aloof  from  the  gentlemen  in  Athribis,  who  adored  the  shrew- 
mice.  Cats  are  domestic  animals,  your  shrew-mice  are  sad 
gadabouts  :  you  can't  find  a  better  model,  my  Kitty,  than  the 
ladies  of  Bubastis  !  " 

"  How  Trevanion  is  altered  !  "  said  Roland  musingly — "  he 
who  was  so  lively  and  ardent !  " 

"  He  ran  too  fast  uphill  at  first,  and  has  been  out  of  breath 
ever  since,"  said  my  father. 

"  And  Lady  EUinor,"  said  Roland  hesitatingly,  "  shall  you 
see  her  to-morrow  ? " 

"  Yes  !  "  said  my  father  calmly. 

As  Captain  Roland  spoke,  something  in  the  tone  of  his 
question  seemed  to  flash  a  conviction  on  my  mother's  heart — 
the  woman  there  was  quick  :  she  drew  back,  turning  pale,  even 
in  the  moonlight,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  my  father,  while  I  felt 
her  hand  which  had  clasped  mine  tremble  convulsively. 

I  understood  her.  Yes,  this  Lady  EUinor  was  the  early 
rival  whose  name  till  then  she  had  not  known.  She  fixed  her 
eyes  on  my  father,  and  at  his  tranquil  tone  and  quiet  look  she 
breathed  more  freely,  and,  sliding  her  hand  from  mine,  rested 
it  fondly  on  his  shoulder.  A  few  moments  afterwards,  I  and 
Captain  Roland  found  ourselves  standing  alone  by  the 
window. 

"  You  are  young,  nephew,"  said  the  Captain  ;  "  and  you 
have  the  name  of  a  fallen  family  to  raise.  Your  father  does 
well  not  to  reject  for  you  that  opening  into  the  great  world 
which  Trevanion  offers.     As  for  me,  my  business  in  London 


THE    CAXTONS.  I29 

seems  over  :  I  cannot  find  what  I  came  to  seek.  I  have  sent 
for  my  daughter  ;  when  she  arrives  I  shall  return  to  my  old 
tower  ;  and  the  man  and  the  ruin  will  crumble  away  together." 

"  Tush,  uncle  !  I  must  work  hard  and  get  money  ;  and 
then  we  will  repair  the  old  tower,  and  buy  back  the  old  estate. 
My  father  shall  sell  the  red  brick  house  ;  we  will  fit  him  up  a. 
library  in  the  keep  ;  and  we  will  all  live  united,  in  peace,  and 
in  state,  as  grand  as  our  ancestors  before  us." 

While  I  thus  spoke,  my  uncle's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  a  corner 
of  the  street,  where  a  figure,  half  in  shade,  half  in  moonlight^ 
stood  motionless  :  "  Ah  !  "  said  I,  following  his  eye,  ''  I  have 
observed  that  man,  two  or  three  times,  pass  up  and  down  the 
street  on  the  other  side  of  the  way,  and  turn  his  head  towards 
our  window.  Our  guests  were  with  us  then,  and  my  father  in 
full  discourse,  or  I  should  have — " 

Before  I  could  finish  the  sentence,  my  uncle,  stifling  an 
exclamation,  broke  away,  hurried  out  of  the  room,  stumped 
down  the  stairs,  and  was  in  the  street,  while  I  was  yet  rooted 
to  the  spot  with  surprise.  I  remained  at  the  window,  and  my 
eye  rested  on  the  figure.  I  saw  the  Captain,  with  his  bare 
head  and  his  gray  hair,  cross  the  street ;  the  figure  started, 
turned  the  corner,  and  fled. 

Then  I  followed  my  uncle,  and  arrived  in  time  to  save  him 
from  falling  :  he  leant  his  head  on  my  breast,  and  I  heard  him 
murmur  :  "  It  is  he — it  is  he  !  He  has  watched  us  !  He 
repents  ! " 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  next  day  Lady  Ellinor  called  ;  but,  to  my  great  disap- 
pointment, without  Fanny. 

Whether  or  not  some  joy  at  the  incident  of  the  previous 
night  had  served  to  rejuvenate  my  uncle,  I  know  not,  but  he 
looked  to  me  ten  years  younger  when  Lady  Ellinor  entered. 
How  carefully  the  buttoned-up  coat  was  brushed  !  How  new 
and  glossy  was  the  black  stock  !  The  poor  Captain  was  re- 
stored to  his  pride,  and  mighty  proud  he  looked  !  With  a  glow 
on  his  cheek,  and  a  fire  in  his  eye  ;  his  head  thrown  back,  and 
his  whole  air  composed,  severe,  Mavortian,  and  majestic,  as  if 
awaiting  the  charge  of  the  French  cuirassiers  at  the  head  of 
his  detachment. 

My  father,  on  the  contrary,  was  as  usual  (till  dinner,  when 
he  always  dressed  punctiliously,  out  of  respect  to  his  Kitty)  in 
his  easy  morning  gown  and  slippers  ,  and  nothing  but  a  cer- 
tain compression  in  his  lips,  which  had  lasted  all  the  morning, 


130  THE   CAXTONS. 

evinced  his  anticipation  of  the  visit,  or  the  emotion  it  caused 
him. 

Lady  Ellinor  behaved  beautifully.  She  could  not  conceal 
a  nervous  trepidation,  when  she  first  took  the  hand  my  father 
extended  ;  and,  in  touching  rebuke  of  the  Captain's  stately 
bow,  she  held  out  to  him  the  hand  left  disengaged,  with  a  look 
which  brought  Roland  at  once  to  her  side.  It  was  a  desertion 
of  his  colors,  to  which  nothing,  short  of  Ney's  shameful  con- 
duct at  Napoleon's  return  from  Elba,  affords  a  parallel  in  his- 
tory. Then,  without  waiting  for  introduction,  and  before  a 
word  indeed  was  said.  Lady  Ellinor  came  to  my  mother  so 
cordially,  so  caressingly — she  threw  into  her  smile,  voice,  man- 
ner, such  winning  sweetness,  that  I,  intimately  learned  in  my 
poor  mother's  simple,  loving  heart,  wondered  how  she  refrained 
from  throwing  her  arms  round  Lady  Ellinor'sneck  and  kissing 
her  outright.  It  must  have  been  a  great  conquest  over  herself 
not  to  do  it !  My  turn  came  next ;  and  talking  to  me,  and 
about  me,  soon  set  all  parties  at  their  ease — at  least,  appa- 
rently. 

What  was  said  I  cannot  remember  ;  I  do  not  think  one  of 
us  could.  But  an  hour  slipped  away,  and  there  was  no  gap  in 
the  conversation. 

With  curious  interest,  and  a  survey  I  strove  to  make  impar- 
tial, I  compared  Lady  Ellinor  with  my  mother.  And  I  com- 
prehend the  fascination  which  the  high-born  lady  must,  in 
their  earlier  youth,  have  exercised  over  both  brothers,  so  dis- 
similar to  each  other.  For  charm  was  the  characteristic  of 
Lady  Ellinor — a  charm  indefinable.  It  was  not  the  mere 
grace  of  refined  breeding,  though  that  went  a  great  way  ;  it 
was  a  charm  that  seemed  to  spring  from  natural  sympathy. 
Whomsoever  she  addressed,  that  person  appeared  for  the  mo- 
ment to  engage  all  her  attention,  to  interest  her  whole  mind. 
She  had  a  gift  of  conversation  very  peculiar.  She  made  what 
she  said  like  a  continuation  of  what  was  said  to  her.  She 
seemed  as  if  she  had  entered  into  your  thoughts  and  talked 
them  aloud.  Her  mind  was  evidently  cultivated  with  great 
care,  but  she  was  perfectly  void  of  pedantry.  A  hint,  an  allu- 
sion, sufficed  to  show  how  much  she  knew,  to  one  well  instruct- 
ed, without  mortifying  or  perplexing  the  ignorant.  Yes, 
there  probably  was  the  only  woman  my  father  had  ever 
met  who  could  be  the  companion  to  his  mind,  walk  through 
the  garden  of  knowledge  by  his  side,  and  trim  the  flowers 
while  he  cleared  the  vistas.  On  the  other  hand,  there  was  an 
inborn  nobility  in  Lady  Ellinor's  sentiments  that  must  have 


THE   CAXTONS.  13! 

Struck  the  most  susceptible  chord  in  Roland's  nature,  and  the 
sentiments  took  eloquence  from  the  look,  the  mien,  the  sweet 
dignity  of  the  very  turn  of  the  head.  Yes,  she  must  have  been 
a  fitting  Oriana  to  a  young  Amadis.  It  was  not  hard  to  see 
that  Lady  Ellinor  was  ambitious  ;  that  she  had  a  love  of  fame, 
for  fame  itself;  that  she  was  proud  ;  that  she  set  value  (and 
that  morbidly)  on  the  world's  opinion.  This  was  perceptible 
when  she  spoke  of  her  husband,  even  of  her  daughter.  It 
seemed  to  me  as  if  she  valued  the  intellect  of  the  one,  the 
beauty  of  the  other,  by  the  gauge  of  the  social  distinction  it 
conferred.  She  took  measure  of  the  gift,  as  I  was  taught  at 
Dr.  Herman's  to  take  measure  of  the  height  of  a  tower,  by  the 
length  of  the  shadow  it  cast  upon  the  ground. 

My  dear  father  !  with  such  a  wife  you  would  never  have 
lived  eighteen  years,  shivering  on  the  edge  of  a  Great 
Book. 

My  dear  uncle,  with  such  a  wife  you  would  never  have  been 
contented  with  a  cork  leg  and  a  Waterloo  medal !  And  I 
understand  why  Mr.  Trevanion,  "  eager  and  ardent "  as  ye 
say  he  was  in  youth,  with  a  heart  bent  on  the  practical  suc- 
cess of  life,  won  the  hand  of  the  heiress.  Well,  you  see  Mr. 
Trevanion  has  contrived  not  to  be  happy  !  By  the  side  of  my 
listening,  admiring  mother,  with  her  blue  eyes  moist,  and  her 
coral  lips  apart.  Lady  Ellinor  looks  faded.  Was  she  ever  as 
pretty  as  my  mother  is  now  ?  Never.  But  she  was  much 
handsomer.  What  delicacy  in  the  outline,  and  yet  how  de- 
cided in  spite  of  the  delicacy  !  The  eyebrow  so  defined — the 
profile  slightly  aquiline,  so  clearly  cut — with  the  curved  nostril, 
which,  if  physiognomists  are  right,  shows  sensibility  so  keen  ; 
and  the  classic  lip  that,  but  for  the  neighboring  dimple,  would 
be  so  haughty.  But  wear  and  tear  are  in  that  face.  The 
nervous,  excitable  temper  has  helped  the  fret  and  cark  of 
ambitious  life.  My  dear  uncle,  I  know  not  yet  your  private 
life.  But  as  for  my  father,  I  am  sure  that,  though  he  might 
have  done  more  on  earth,  he  would  have  been  less  fit  for 
heaven,  if  he  had  married  Lady  Ellinor. 

At  last  this  visit,  dreaded,  I  am  sure,  by  three  of  the  party, 
was  over,  but  not  before  I  had  promised  to  dine  at  the 
Trevanions'  that  day. 

When  we  were  again  alone,  my  father  threw  off  a  long 
breath,  and,  looking  him  cheerfully,  said  :  "  Since  Pisistratus 
deserts  us,  let  us  console  ourselves  for  his  absence — send  for 
Brother  Jack,  and  all  four  go  down  to  Richmond  to  drink 
tea." 


132  THE   CAXTONS. 

"  Thank  you,  Austin,"  said  Roland.     "  But  I  don't  want  it, 


assure  you 


"  Upon  your  honor?"'  said  my  father  in  a  half-whisper, 

"Upon  my  honor." 

"  Nor  I  either  !  So,  my  dear  Kitty,  Roland  and  I  will  take 
a  walk,  and  be  back  in  time  to  see  if  that  young  Anachronism 
looks  as  handsome  as  his  new  London-made  clothes  will 
allow  him.  Properly  speaking,  he  ought  to  go  with  an  apple 
in  his  hand,  and  a  dove  in  his  bosom.  But  now  I  think  of  it, 
that  was  luckily  not  the  fashion  with  the  Athenians  till  the 
time  of  Alcibiades  !  " 

CHAPTER  VI. 

You  may  judge  of  the  effect  that  my  dinner  at  Mr.  Tre- 
vanion's,  with  a  long  conversation  after  it  with  Lady  Ellinor, 
made  upon  my  mind,  when,  on  my  return  home,  after  having 
satisfied  all  questions  of  parental  curiosity,  I  said  nervously, 
and  looking  down  :  "  My  dear  father — I.  should  like  very 
much,  if  you  have  no  objection — to — to — " 

"  What,  my  dear  ?"  asked  my  father  kindly. 

"  Accept  an  offer  Lady  Ellinor  has  made  me  on  the  part  of 
Mr  Trevanion.  He  wants  a  secretary.  He  is  kind  enough 
to  excuse  my  inexperience,  and  declares  I  shall  do  very  well, 
and  can  soon  get  into  his  ways.  Lady  Ellinor  says  (1  continued 
with  dignity)  that  it  will  be  a  great  opening  in  public  life  for 
me  ;  and  at  all  events,  my  dear  father,  I  shall  see  much  of  the 
world,  and  learn  what  1  really  think  will  be  more  useful  to  me 
than  anything  they  will  teach  me  at  college." 

My  mother  looked  anxiously  at  my  father.  "  It  will  indeed 
be  a  great  thing  for  Sisty,"  said  she  timidly  ;  and  then,  taking 
courage,  she  added  :  "  And  that  is  just  the  sort  of  life  he  is 
formed  for — " 

•'  Hem  !  "  said  my  uncle. 

My  father  rubbed  his  spectacles  thoughtfully,  and  replied, 
after  a  long  pause  : 

"  You  may  be  right,  Kitty  :  I  don't  think  Pisistratus  is  meant 
for  study  ;  action  will  suit  him  better.  But  what  does  this  office 
lead  to  ?  " 

"  Public  employment,  sir,"  said  I  boldly  ;  *'  the  service  of 
my  country." 

"  If  that  be  the  case,"  quoth  Roland,  "  I  have  not  a  word 
to  say.  But  I  should  have  thought  that  for  a  lad  of  spirit,  a 
desceadaat  of  the  old  De  Caxtons,  the  army  would  have — " 


THE   CAXTONS,  I33 

"  The  army  !  "  exclaimed  my  mother,  clasping  her  hands,  and 
looking  involuntarily  at  my  uncle's  cork  leg. 

"  The  army  !  "  repeated  my  father  peevishly.  "  Bless  my 
soul,  Roland,  you  seem  to  think  man  is  made  for  nothing  else 
but  to  be  shot  at !     You  would  not  like  the  army,  Pisistratus  ? " 

"  Why,  sir,  not  if  it  pained  you  and  my  dear  mother  ;  other- 
wise, indeed — " 

"  Papge  !  "  said  my  father,  interrupting  me.  "  This  all  comes 
of  your  giving  the  boy  that  ambitious,  uncomfortable  name, 
Mrs.  Caxton  ;  what  could  a  Pisistratus  be  but  the  plague  of 
one's  life  ?  That  idea  of  serving  his  country  is  Pisistratus 
ipsissimus  all  over.  If  ever  I  have  another  son  {Dii  meliora!) 
he  has  only  got  to  be  called  Eratostratus,  and  then  he  will  be 
burning  down  St.  Paul's  ;  which  I  believe  was,  by  the  way, 
first  made  out  of  the  stones  of  a  temple  to  Diana  !  Of  the 
two,  certainly,  you  had  better  serve  your  country  with  a  goose- 
quill  than  by  poking  a  bayonet  into  the  ribs  of  some  unfortu- 
nate Indian  ;  I  don't  think  there  are  any  other  people  whom 
the  service  of  one's  country  makes  it  necessary  to  kill  just  at 
present,  eh,  Roland  .?  " 

"  It  is  a  very  fine  field,  India,"  said  my  uncle  sententiousiy. 
"  It  is  the  nursery  of  captains." 

"  Is  it  ?  Those  plants  take  up  a  great  deal  of  ground,  then, 
that  might  be  more  profitably  cultivated.  And,  indeed,  con- 
sidering that  the  tallest  captains  in  the  world  will  be  ultimately 
set  into  a  box  not  above  seven  feet  at  the  longest,  it  is  aston- 
ishing what  a  quanity  of  room  that  species  of  arbor  mortis  takes 
in  the  growing  !  However,  Pisistratus,  to  return  to  your 
request,  I  will  think  it  over,  and  talk  to  Trevanion." 

"  Or  rather  to  Lady  Ellinor,"  said  I  imprudently  :  my  mother 
slightly  shivered,  and  took  her  hand  from  mine.  I  felt  cut  to 
the  heart  by  the  slip  of  my  own  tongue. 

"  That,  I  think,  your  mother  could  do  best,"  said  my  father 
drily,  "  if  she  wants  to  be  quite  convinced  that  somebody  will 
see  that  your  shirts  are  aired.  For  I  suppose  they  mean  you 
to  lodge  at  Trevanion's." 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  cried  my  mother.  "  He  might  as  well  go  to 
college  then.  I  thought  he  was  to  stay  with  us  ;  only  go  in 
the  morning,  but  of  course,  sleep  here." 

"  If  I  know  anything  of  Trevanion,"  said  my  father,  "  his 
secretary  will  be  expected  to  do  without  sleep.  Poor  boy  !  you 
don't  know  what  it  is  you  desire.  And  yet,  at  your  age,  I — " 
my  father  stopped  short.  "  No  !  "  he  renewed  abruptly  after  a 
long   silence,  and   as  if  soliloquizing,   "  No  :    man   is   never 


134  THE   CAXTONS. 

wrong  while  he  lives  for  others.  The  philosopher  who  con- 
templates from  the  rock  is  a  less  noble  image  than  the  sailor 
who  struggles  with  the  storm.  Why  should  there  be  two  of 
us  ?  And  could  he  be  an  alter  ego,  even  if  I  wished  it  ?  Im- 
possible !  "  My  father  turned  on  his  chair,  and  laying  the  left 
leg  on  the  right  knee,  said  smilingly,  as  he  bent  down  to  look 
me  full  in  the  face :  "  But,  Pisistratus,  will  you  promise  me 
always  to  wear  the  saffron  bag  ?" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

I  NOW  make  a  long  stride  in  my  narrative.  I  am  domesti- 
cated with  the  Trevanions.  A  very  short  conversation  with 
the  statesman  sufficed  to  decide  my  father  ;  and  the  pith  of 
it  lay  in  this  single  sentence  uttered  by  Trevanion  :  "  I 
promise  you  one  thing — he  shall  never  be  idle  !  " 

Looking  back  I  am  convinced  that  my  father  was  right,  and 
that  he  understood  my  character,  and  the  temptations  to  which 
I  was  most  prone,  when  he  consented  to  let  me  resign  college 
and  enter  thus  prematurely  on  the  world  of  men.  1  was  nat- 
urally so  joyous  that  1  should  have  made  college  life  a  holiday, 
and  then,  in  repentance,  worked  myself  into  a  phthisis. 

And  my  father,  too,  was  right,  that,  though  I  could  study,  I 
was  not  meant  for  a  student. 

After  all,  the  thing  was  an  experiment.  I  had  time  to  spare 
if  the  experiment  failed,  a  year's  delay  would  not  necessarily 
be  a  year's  loss. 

I  am  ensconced,  then,  at  Mr.  Trevanion's.  I  have  been  there 
some  months — it  is  late  in  the  winter  ;  Parliament  and  the  sea- 
son have  commenced.  I  work  hard — Heaven  knows  harder 
than  I  should  have  worked  at  college.  Take  a  day  for 
sample. 

Trevanion  gets  up  at  eight  o'clock,  and  in  all  weathers  rides 
an  hour  before  breakfast ;  at  nine  he  takes  that  meal  in  his 
wife's  dressing-room  ;  at  half-past  nine  he  comes  into  his  study. 
By  that  time  he  expects  to  find  done  by  his  secretary  the  work 
I  am  about  to  describe. 

On  coming  home,  or  rather  before  going  to  bed,  which  is 
usually  after  three  o'clock,  it  is  Mr.  Trevanion's  habit  to  leave 
on  the  table  of  the  said  study  a  list  of  directions  for  the  secre- 
tary. The  following,  which  I  take  at  random  from  many  I 
have  preserved,  may  show  their  multifarious  nature  : 

I.  Look  out  in  the  Reports  (Committee  House  of  Lords)  for  the  last  seven 


THE    CAXTONS.  135 

years — all  that  is  said  about  tlie  growth  of  fl.ix — mark  the  passages  for  me. 
2    Do.  do. — "  Irish  Emigration." 

3.  Hunt  out  second  vohime  of  Karnes's  History  of  Man,  passage  con- 
taining "  Raid's  Logic  " — don't  know  where  the  book  is  ! 

4.  How  does  the  line  beginning  "  Lumina  conjurent,  inter"  something, 
end  ?     Is  it  in  Gray  ?     See  ! 

5.  Fracastorius  writes — "  Quantum  hoc  infecit  vitium,  quot  adiverit 
urbes.  '  Query,  ought  it  not,  in  strict  grammar,  to  be — infecerit  instead  of 
infecit  ? — if  you  don't  know,  write  to  father. 

6.  Write  the  four  letters  in  full  from  the  notes  I  leave,  i.  e,,  about  the 
Ecclesiastical  Courts. 

7.  Look  out  Population  Returns — strike  average  of  last  five  years  (be- 
tween mortality  and  births)  in  Devonshire  and  Lancashire. 

8.  Answer  the.se  six  Legging  letters  ;  "No" — civilly. 

9.  The  other  six,  to  constituents — "  that  I  have  no  interest  with  Govern- 
ment." 

10.  See,  if  you  have  time,  whether  any  of  the  new  books  on  the  round 
table  are  not  trash. 

11.  I  want  to  know  ALL  about  Indian  corn  ? 

12.  Longinus  says  something,  somewhere,  in  regret  for  uncongenial  pur- 
suits (public  life,  I  suppose) — what  is  it?  N.B.  Longinus  is  not  in  my 
London  Catalogue,  but  is  here,  I  know — I  think  in  a  box  in  the  lumber- 
room. 

13.  Set  right  the  calculation  I  leave  on  the  poor-rates.  I  have  made  a 
blunder  somewhere.     Etc.,  etc. 

Certainly  my  father  knew  Mr.  Trevanion  ;  he  never  ex- 
pected a  secretary  to  sleep  !  To  get  through  the  work 
required  of  me  by  half-past  nine,  I  get  up  by  candle-light. 
At  half-past  nine  I  am  still  hunting  for  Longinus,  when  Mr. 
Trevanion  comes  ii^  with  a  bundle  of  letters. 

Answers  to  half  the  said  letters  fall  to  my  share.  Directions 
verbal — in  a  species  of  short-hand  talk.  While  I  write,  Mr. 
Trevanion  reads  the  newspapers,  examines  what  I  have  done, 
makes  notes  therefrom,  some  for  Parliament,  some  for  con- 
versation, some  for  correspondence  ;  ski  ins  over  the  Parlia- 
mentary papers  of  the  morning,  and  jots  down  directions  for 
extracting,  abridging,  and  comparing  them,  with  others, 
perhaps  twenty  years  old.  At  eleven  he  walks  down  to  a 
Committee  of  the  House  of  Commons,  leaving  me  plenty  to 
do,  till  half-past  three,  when  he  returns.  At  four,  Fanny  puts 
her  head  into  the  room — and  I  lose  mine.  Four  days  in  the 
week  Mr.  Trevanion  then  disappears  for  the  rest  of  the  day : 
dines  at  Bellamy's  or  a  club;  expects  me  at  the  House  at 
eight  o'clock,  in  case  he  thinks  of  something,  wants  a  fact  or 
a  quotation.  He  then  releases  me,  generally  with  a  fresh  list 
of  instructions.  But  I  have  my  holidays,  nevertheless.  On 
Wednesdays  and  Saturdays  Mr.  Trevanion  gives  dinners,  and 
I  meet  the  most  eminent  men  of  the  day — on  both   sides. 


136  THE   CAXTONS. 

For  Trevanion  is  on  both  sides  liimself — or  no  side  at  allj 
which  comes  to  the  same  thing.  On  Tuesdays,  Lady  Ellinor 
gives  me  a  ticket  for  the  Opera,  and  I  get  there  at  least  in  time 
for  the  ballet.  I  have  already  invitations  enough  to  balls 
and  soirees,  for  I  am  regarded  as  an  only  son  of  great 
expectations.  I  am  treated  as  becomes  a  Caxton  who  has  the 
right,  if  he  pleases,  to  put  a  De  before  his  name.  I  have 
grown  very  smart.  I  have  taken  a  passion  for  dress — natural 
to  eighteen.  I  like  everything  I  do,  and  every  one  about  me. 
I  am  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  Fanny  Trevanion — who 
breaks  my  heart,  nevertheless  ;  for  she  flirts  with  two  peers,  a 
life-guardsman,  three  old  members  of  Parliament,  Sir  Sedley 
Beaudesert,  one  ambassador,  and  all  his  attaches,  and  positively 
(the  audacious  minx  !)  with  a  bishop,  in  full  wig  and  apron, 
who,  people  say,  means  to  marry  again. 

Pisistratus  has  lost  color  and  flesh.  His  mother  says  he  is 
very  much  improved — that  he  takes  to  be  the  natural  effect 
produced  by  Stultz  and  Hoby.  Uncle  Jack  says  he  is  "  fined 
down." 

His  father  looks  at  him  and  writes  to  Trevanion  : 

"  Dear  T. — I  refused  a  salary  for  my  son.  Give  him  a  horse, 
and  two  hours  a  day  to  ride  it.     Yours,  A.  C." 

The  next  day  I  am  master  of  a  pretty  bay  mare,  and  riding 
by  the  side  of  Fanny  Trevanion.     Alas  !  alas  ! 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

I  HAVE  not  mentioned  my  Uncle  Roland.  He  is  gone — 
abroad — to  fetch  his  daughter.  He  has  stayed  longer  than  was 
expected.  Does  he  seek  his  son  still — there  as  here  ?  My 
father  has  finished  the  first  portion  of  his  work,  in  two  great 
volumes.  Uncle  Jack,  who  for  some  time  has  been  looking 
melancholy,  and  who  now  seldoms  stirs  out,  except  on  Sundays 
(on  which  days  we  all  meet  at  my  father's  and  dine  together) — 
Uncle  Jack,  I  say,  has  undertaken  to  sell  it. 

"  Don't  be  over-sanguine,"  says  Uncle  Jack,  as  he  locks  up 
the  MS.  in  two  red  boxes  with  a  slit  in  the  lids,which  belonged  to 
one  of  the  defunct  companies.  "  Don't  be  over-sanguine  as  to 
the  price.  These  publishers  never  venture  much  on  a  first  ex- 
periment.    They  must  be  talked  even  into  looking  the  book." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  my  father  "  if  they  will  publish  it  at  all,  and  at 
their  own  risk  I  should  not  stand  out  for  any  other  terms. 
*  Nothing  great,  said  Dryden,  *  ever  came  from  a  venal  pen  ! '  " 


THE    CAXTONS.  137 

"  An  uncommonly  foolish  observation  of  Dryden's,"  returned 
Uncle  Jack  ;  "  he  ought  to  have  known  better." 

"  So  he  did,"  said  I,  "  for  he  used  his  pen  to  fill  his  pockets — 
poor  man  !  " 

"  But  the  pen  was  not  venal,  Master  Anachronism,"  said  my 
father.  "  A  baker  is  not  to  be  called  venal  if  he  sells  his 
loaves—he  is  venal  if  he  sells  himself  :  Dryden  only  sold  his 
loaves." 

"  And  we  must  sell  yours,"  said  Uncle  Jack  emphatically. 
"  A  thousand  pounds  a  volume  will  be  about  the  mark,  eh  ?" 

"  A  thousand  pounds  a  volume  ?  "  cried  my  father.  "  Gib- 
bon, I  fancy,  did  not  receive  more." 

"  Very  likely  ;  Gibbon  had  not  an  Uncle  Jack  to  look  after 
his  interests,"  said  Mr.  Tibbets,  laughing  and  rubbing  those 
smooth  hands  of  his.  "  No  !  two  thousand  pounds  the  two 
volumes  !     A  sacrifice,  but  still  I  recommend  moderation." 

"  I  should  be  happy,  indeed,  if  the  book  brought  in  any- 
thing," said  my  father,  evidently  fascinated,  "  for  that  young 
gentleman  is  rather  expensive  ;  and  you,  my  dear  Jack — per- 
haps half  the  sum  may  be  of  use  to  you  !  " 

"  To  me  !  my  dear  brother,"  cried  Uncle  Jack — **  to  me  ! 
Why,,  when  my  new  speculation  has  succeeded,  I  shall  be  a 
millionnaire  !  " 

"Have  you  a  new  speculation,  uncle?"  said  I  anxiously. 
"  What  is  it  ? " 

"  Mum  ! "  said  my  uncle,  putting  his  finger  to  his  lip,  and 
looking  all  round  the  room — "  Mum  !  !  Mum  !  !  " 

PisiSTRATUs. — A  Grand  National  Company  for  blowing  up 
both  Houses  of  Parliament  ! 

Mr.  Caxton. — Upon  my  life,  I  hope  something  newer 
than  that ;  for  they,  to  judge  by  the  newspapers,  don't  want 
Brother  Jack's  assistance  to  blow  up  each  other  ! 

Uncle  Jack  (mysteriously).— Newspapers  !  you  don't 
often  read  a  newspaper,  Austin  Caxton  ! 

Mr.  Caxton. — Granted,  John  Tibbets  ! 

Uncle  Jack. — But  if  my  speculation  make  you  read  a 
newspaper  every  day  ? 

Mr.  Caxton  (astounded). — Make  me  read  a  newspaper 
every  day  ! 

Uncle  Jack  (warming,  and  expanding  his  hands  to  the 
fire). — As  big  as  the  Times  ! 

Mr.  Caxton  (uneasily). — Jack,  you  alarm  me  ! 

Uncle  Jack. — And  make  you  write  in  it  too — a  leader  ! 

Mr.  Caxton,  pushing  back  his  chair,  seizes  the  only  weapon 


J38  THE   CAXTONS. 

at  his  command,  and  hurls  at  Uncle  Jack  a  great  sentence  of 
Greek  :  Tovi  fxev  yap  eivai  ^aAfTTOf ff,  ode  xat  avBpoTto- 
<payeiy  !  * 

Uncle  Jack  (nothing  daunted) — Ay,  and  put  as  much 
Greek  as  you  like  into  it  ! 

Mr.  Caxton  (relieved  and  softening). — My  dear  Jack,  you 
are  a  great  man — let  us  hear  you  ! 

Then  Uncle  Jack  began.  Now,  perhaps  my  readers  may 
have  remarked  that  this  illustrious  speculator  was  really  for- 
tunate in  his  ideas.  His  speculations  in  themselves  always  had 
something  sound  in  the  kernel,  considering  how  barren  they 
were  in  the  fruit  ;  and  this  it  was  that  made  him  so  dangerous. 
The  idea  Uncle  Jack  had  now  got  hold  of  will,  I  am  convinced, 
make  a  man's  fortune  one  of  these  days ;  and  I  relate  it  with 
a  sigh,  in  thinking  how  much  has  gone  out  of  the  family. 
Know,  then,  it  was  nothing  less  than  setting  up  a  daily  paper 
on  the  plan  of  the  Times,  but  devoted  entirely  to  Art,  Litera- 
ture, and  Science — Mental  Progress,  in  short ;  I  say  on  the 
plan  of  the  Times,  for  it  was  to  imitate  the  mighty  machinery 
of  that  diurnal  illuminator.  It  was  to  be  the  Literary  Salmo- 
neus  of  the  Political  Jupiter  ;  and  rattle  its  thunder  over  the 
bridge  of  knowledge.  It  was  to  have  correspondents  in  all 
parts  of  the  globe  ;  everything  that  related  to  the  chronicle  of 
the  mind,  from  the  labor  of  the  missionary  in  the  South  Sea 
Islands,  or  the  research  of  a  traveller  in  pursuit  of  that  mirage 
called  Timbuctoo,  to  the  last  new  novel  at  Paris,  or  the  last 
great  emendation  of  a  Greek  particle  of  a  German  university, 
was  to  find  a  place  in  this  focus  of  light.  It  was  to  amuse,  to 
instruct,  to  interest — there  was  nothing  it  was  not  to  do.  Not 
a  man  in  the  whole  reading  public,  not  only  of  the  three  king- 
doms, not  only  of  the  British  empire,  but  under  the  cope  of 
heaven,  that  it  was  not  to  touch  somewhere,  in  head,  in  heart, 
or  in  pocket.  The  most  crotchety  member  of  the  intellectual 
community  might  find  his  own  hobby  in  ihose  stable.s. 

"  Think,"  cried  Uncle  Jack — "  think  of  the  march  of  mind  ; 
think  of  the  passion  for  cheap  knowledge  ;  think  how  little 
quarterly,  monthly,  weekly  journals  can  keep  pace  with  the 
main  wants  of  the  age.  As  well  have  a  weekly  journal  on 
politics,  as  a  weekly  journal  on  all  the  matters  still  more  inter- 
esting than  politics  to  the  mass  of  the  public.  My  Literary 
Times  once  started,  people  will  wonder  how  they  had  ever  lived 
without  it  !     Sir,  they  have  not  lived  without  it ;    they  have 

♦  "  Some  were  so  barbarous  as  to  eat  their  own  species."  The  sentence  refers  to  the 
Scythians,  and  is  in  Strabo.  I  mention  the  authority,  for  Strabo  is  not  an  author  that  any 
man  engaged  on  a  less  work  than  the  History  of  Human  Error  is  exnected  to  have  by  heart. 


THE    CAXTONS.  I39 

vegetated  ;  they  have  lived  hi  holes  and  caves,  like  the  Trog- 
gledikes." 

"Troglodytes,"  said  my  father  mildly  —  "from  trogle,  a 
cave — and  dumi,  to  go  under.  They  lived  in  Ethiopia,  and 
had  their  wives  in  common." 

"  As  to  the  last  point,  I  don't  say  that  the  public,  poor  creat- 
ures, are  as  bad  as  that,"  said  Uncle  Jack  candidly  ;  "but  no 
simile  holds  good  in  all  its  points.  And  the  public  are  no  less 
Troggledummies,  or  whatever  you  call  them,  compared  with 
what  they  will  be  when  living  under  the  full  light  of  my 
Literary  Times.  Sir,  it  will  be  a  revolution  in  the  world.  It 
will  bring  literature  out  of  the  clouds  into  the  parlor,  the  cot- 
tage, the  kitchen.  The  idlest  dandy,  the  finest  fine  lady,  will 
find  something  to  her  taste ;  the  busiest  man  of  the  mart  and 
counter  will  find  some  acquisition  to  his  practical  knowledge. 
The  practical  man  will  see  the  progress  of  divinity,  medicine, 
nay,  even  law.  Sir,  the  Indian  will  read  me  under  the  banyan  ; 
I  shall  be  in  the  seraglios  of  the  East ;  and  over  my  sheets  the 
American  Indian  will  smoke  the  calumet  of  peace.  We  shall 
reduce  politics  to  its  proper  level  in  the  affairs  of  life,  raise 
literature  to  its  due  place  in  the  thoughts  and  business  of  men. 
It  is  a  grand  thought ;  and  my  heart  swells  with  pride  while  I 
contemplate  it !  " 

"  My  dear  Jack,"  said  my  father  seriously,  and  rising  with 
emotion,  "  it  is  a  grand  thought,  and  I  honor  you  for  it.  You 
are  quite  right — it  would  be  a  revolution  !  It  would  educate 
mankind  insensibly.  Upon  my  life,  I  should  be  proud  to 
write  a  leader,  or  a  paragraph.  Jack,  you  will  immortalize 
yourself  ! " 

"  I  believe  I  shall,"  said  Uncle  Jack  modestly  ;  "  but  I  have 
not  said  a  word  yet  on  the  greatest  attraction  of  all — " 

"  Ah  !  and  that—" 

"  The  Advertisements  !  "  cried  my  uncle,  spreading  his 
hands  with  all  the  fingers  at  angles,  like  the  threads  of  a 
spider's  web.  "  The  advertisements — oh,  think  of  them  ! — a 
perfect  El  Dorado.  The  advertisements,  sir,  on  the  most  mod- 
erate calculation, will  bring  us  in  ;^5o,ooo  a  year.  My  dear  Pisis- 
tratus,  I  shall  never  marry  ;  you  are  my  heir.     Embrace  me  ! " 

So  saying,  my  Uncle  Jack  threw  himself  upon  me,  and 
squeezed  out  of  breath  the  prudential  demur  that  was  rising 
to  my  lips. 

My  poor  mother,  between  laughing  and  sobbing,  faltered 
out :  "  And  it  is  my  brother  who  will  pay  back  to  his  son  all — 
all  he  gave  up  for  me  ! " 


140  THE   CAXTOMS. 

While  my  father  walked  to  and  fro  the  room,  more  excited 
than  ever  I  saw  him  before,  muttering  :  "  A  sad,  useless  dog  I 
have  been  hitherto  !  I  should  like  to  serve  the  world !  I 
should  indeed  !  " 

Uncle  Jack  had  fairly  done  it  this  time.  He  had  found  out 
the  only  bait  in  the  world  to  catch  so  shy  a  carp  as  my  father — 
*'  hceret  lethalis  arundo."  I  saw  that  the  deadly  hook  was  within 
an  inch  of  my  father's  nose,  and  that  he  was  gazing  at  it  with 
a  fixed  determination  to  swallow. 

But  if  it  amused  my  father?  Boy  that  I  was,  I  saw  no 
further.  I  must  own  I  myself  was  dazzled,  and,  perhaps,  with 
childlike  malice,  delighted  at  the  perturbation  of  my  betters. 
The  young  carp  was  pleased  to  see  the  waters  so  playfully  in 
movement,  when  the  old  carp  waved  his  tail,  and  swayed  him- 
self on  his  fins. 

"  Mum  !  "  said  Uncle  Jack,  releasing  me  ;  "  not  a  word  to 
Mr.  Trevanion,  to  any  one." 

"But  why.?" 

"  Why  .''  God  bless  my  soul !  Why  ?  If  my  scheme  gets 
wind,  do  you  suppose  some  one  will  not  clap  on  sail  to  be 
before  me  ?  You  frighten  me  out  of  my  senses.  Promise  me 
faithfully  to  be  silent  as  the  grave — " 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  Trevanion's  opinion  too — " 

"  As  well  hear  the  town  crier  !  Sir,  I  have  trusted  to  your 
honor.  Sir,  at  the  domestic  hearth  all  secrets  are  sacred. 
Sir,  I—" 

"  My  dear  Uncle  Jack,  you  have  said  quite  enough.  Not  a 
word  will  I  breathe  !  " 

"  I'm  sure  you  may  trust  him.  Jack,"  said  my  mother. 

"  And  I  do  trust  him — with  wealth  untold,"  replied  my 
uncle.  "  May  I  ask  you  for  a  little  water,  with  a  trifle  of 
brandy  in  it,  and  a  biscuit,  or  indeed  a  sandwich.  This  talk- 
ing makes  me  quite  hungry." 

My  eye  fell  upon  Uncle  Jack  as  he  spoke.  Poor  Uncle 
Jack,  he  had  grown  thin  ! 


PART  SEVENTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Saith  Dr.  Luther  :  "  When  I  saw  Dr.  Gode  begin  to  tell 
his  puddings  hanging  in  the  chimney,  I  told  him  he  would  not 
iive  long ! " 


THE   CAXTONS.  t^t 

I  wish  I  had  copied  that  passag:e  from  "  The  Table  Talk  " 
in  large  round  hand,  and  se*t  it  before  my  father  at  breakfast, 
the  morn  preceding  that  fatal  eve  in  which  Uncle  Jack  per- 
suaded him  to  tell  his  puddings. 

Yet,  now  I  think  of  it,  Uncle  Jack  huug  the  puddings  in 
the  chimney — but  he  did  not  not  persuade  my  father  to  tell 
them. 

Beyond  a  vague  surmise  that  half  the  suspended  "  toma- 
cula  "  would  furnish  a  breakfast  to  Uncle  Jack,  and  that  the 
youthful  appetite  of  Pisistratus  would  despatch  the  rest,  my 
father  did  not  give  a  thought  to  the  nutritious  properties  of 
the  puddings — in  other  words,  to  the  two  thousand  pounds 
which,  thanks  to  Mr.  Tibbets,  dangled  down  the  chimney.  So 
far  as  the  Great  Work  was  concerned,  my  father  only  cared  for 
its  publication,  not  its  profits.  I  will  not  say  that  he  might  not 
hunger  for  praise,  but  I  am  quite  sure  that  he  did  not  care  a 
button  for  pudding.  Nevertheless,  it  was  an  infaust  and  sinis- 
ter augury  for  Austin  Caxton,  the  very  appearance,  the  very 
suspension  and  danglerrient  of  any  puddings  whatsoever,  right 
over  his  ingle-nook,  when  those  puddings  were  made  by  the 
sleek  hands  of  Uncle  Jack  !  None  of  the  puddings  which  he, 
pioor  man,  had  all  his  life  been  stringing,  whether  from  his  own 
chimneys,  or  the  chimneys  of  other  people,  had  turned  out  to 
be  real  puddings  ;  they  had  always  been  the  eidola,  the  erschie- 
nungen,  the  phantoms  and  semblances  of  puddings.  I  ques- 
tion if  Uncle  Jack  knew  much  about  Democritus  of  Abdera. 
But  he  was  certainly  tainted  with  the  philosophy  of  that  fan- 
ciful sage.  He  peopled  the  air  with  images  of  colossal  stature, 
which  impressed  all  his  dreams  and  divinations,  and  from 
whose  influences  came  his  very  sensations  and  thoughts.  His 
whole  being,  asleep  or  waking,  was  thus  but  the  reflection  of 
great  phantom  puddings  ! 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Tibbets  had  possessed  himself  of  the  two 
volumes  of  the  "  History  of  Human  Error,"  he  had  necessarily 
established  that  hold  upon  my  father  which  hitherto  those 
lubricate  hands  of  his  had  failed  to  effect.  Be  had  found 
what  he  had  so  long  sighed  for  in  vain,  his  point  d'appui, 
wherin  to  fix  the  Archimedian  screw.  He  fixed  it  tight  in 
the  "  History  of  Human  Error,"  and  moved  the  Caxtonian 
world. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  conversation  recorded  in  my  last 
chapter,  I  saw  Uncle  Jack  coming  out  of  the  mahogany  doors 
of  my  father's  banker  ;  and,  from  that  time,  there  seemed  no 
reason  why  Mr.  Tibbets  should  not  visit  his  relations  on  week 


142  THE   CAXTONS. 

days  as  well  as  Sundays.  Not  a  day,  indeed,  passed  but  what 
he  held  long  conversations  with  my  Tather.  He  had  much  to 
reoort  of  his  interviews  with  the  publishers.  In  these  con- 
versations he  naturally  recurred  to  that  grand  idea  of  the 
Literary  Times,  which  had  so  dazzled  my  poor  father's  imag- 
ination ;  and,  having  heated  the  iron,  Uncle  Jack  was  too 
knowing  a  man  not  to  strike  while  it  was  hot. 

When  I  think  of  the  simplicity  my  wise  father  exhibited  in  this 
crisis  of  his  life,  I  must  own  that  I  am  less  moved  by  pity  than 
admiration  for  that  poor,  great-hearted  student.  We  have  seen 
that  out  of  the  learned  indolence  of  twenty  years,  the  ambi- 
tion which  is  the  instinct  of  a  man  of  genius  had  emerged  ; 
the  serious  preparation  of  the  Great  Book  for  the  perusal  of 
the  world  had  insensibly  restored  the  claims  of  that  noisy 
world  on  the  silent  individual.  And  therewith  came  a  noble 
remorse  that  he  had  hitherto  done  so  little  for  his  species. 
Was  it  enough  to  write  quartos  upon  the  past  history  of 
Human  Error  ?  Was  it  not  his  duty,  when  the  occasion  was 
fairly  presented,  to  enter  upon  that  present,  daily,  hourly  war 
with  Error,  which  is  the  sworn  chivalry  of  Knowledge  ?  St. 
George  did  not  dissect  dead  dragons,  he  fought  the  live  one. 
And  London,  with  that  magnetic  atmosphere  which  in  great 
capitals  fills  the  breath  of  life  with  stimulating  particles,  had 
its  share  in  quickening  the  slow  pulse  of  the  student.  In 
the  country,  he  read  but  his  old  authors,  and  lived  with 
them  through  the  gone  ages.  In  the  city,  my  father,  dur- 
ing the  intervals  of  repose  from  the  Great  Book,  and  still 
more  now  that  the  Great  Book  had  come  to  a  pause,  inspected 
the  literature  of  his  own  time.  It  had  a  prodigious  effect 
upon  him.  He  was  unlike  the  ordinary  run  of  scholars, 
and,  indeed,  of  readers  for  that  matter,  who,  in  their  super- 
stitious homage  to  the  dead,  are  always  willing  enough  to 
sacrifice  the  living.  He  did  justice  to  the  marvellous  fer- 
tility of  intellect  which  characterizes  the  authorship  of  the 
present  age.  By  the  present  age,  I  do  not  only  mean  the 
present  day,  I  commence  with  the  century.  "  What,"  said  my 
father  one  day  in  dispute  with  Trevanion — "  what  charac- 
terizes the  literature  of  our  time  is — its  human  interest.  It  is 
true  that  we  do  not  see  scholars  addressing  scholars,  but  men 
addressing  men  ;  not  that  scholars  are  fewer,  but  that  the 
reading  public  is  more  large.  Authors  in  all  ages  address 
themselves  to  what  interests  their  readers ;  the  same  things  do 
not  interest  a  vast  community  which  interested  half  a  score  of 
monks  or  bookworms.     The  literary  polis  was  once  an  oli- 


THE   CAXTONS.  t^^ 

garchy,  it  is  now  a  republic.  It  is  the  general  brilliancy  of  the 
atmosphere  which  prevents  your  noticing  the  size  of  any  par- 
ticular star.  Do  you  not  see  that  with  the  cultivation  of  the 
masses  has  awakened  the  Literature  of  the  affections  ?  Every 
sentiment  finds  an  expositor,  every  feeling  an  oracle.  Like 
Epimenides,  I  have  been  sleeping  in  a  cave  ;  and,  waking,  I 
see  those  whom  I  left  children  are  bearded  men  ;  and  towns 
have  sprung  up  in  the  landscapes  which  I  left  as  solitary 
wastes." 

Thence,  the  reader  may  perceive  the  causes  of  the  change 
which  had  come  over  my  father.  As  Robert  Hall  says,  I 
think  of  Dr.  Kippi.s,  "  he  had  laid  so  many  books  at  the  top 
of  his  head,  that  the  brains  could  not  move."  But  the  elec- 
tricity had  now  penetrated  the  heart,  and  the  quickened  vigor 
of  that  noble  organ  enabled  the  brain  to  stir.  Meanwhile,  I 
le^lve  my  father  to  these  influences,  and  to  the  continuous  con- 
versations of  Uncle  Jack,  and  proceed  with  the  thread  of  my 
own  egotism. 

Thanks  to  Mr.  Trevanion,  my  habits  were  not  those  which 
favor  friendships  with  the  idle,  but  I  formed  some  acquaint- 
ances amongst  young  men  a  few  years  older  than  myself,  who 
held  subordinate  situations  in  the  public  offices,  or  were  keep- 
ing their  terms  for  the  bar.  There  was  no  want  of  ability 
amongst  these  gentlemen  ;  but  they  had  not  yet  settled  into 
the  stern  prose  of  life.  Their  busy  hours  only  made  them 
more  disposed  to  enjoy  the  hours  of  relaxation.  And  when 
we  got  together,  a  very  gay,  light-hearted  set  we  were  !  We 
had  neither  money  enough  to  be  very  extravagant,  nor  leisure 
enough  to  be  very  dissipated  ;  but  we  amused  ourselves  not- 
withstanding. My  new  friends  were  wonderfully  erudite  in  all 
matters  connected  with  the  theatres.  From  an  opera  to  a 
ballet,  from  Hamlet  to  the  last  farce  from  the  French,  they  had 
the  literature  of  the  stage  at  the  finger-ends  of  their  straw- 
colored  gloves.  They  had  a  pretty  large  acquaintance  with 
actors  and  actresses,  and  were  perfect  Walpoliiii  in  the  minor 
scandals  of  the  day.  To  do  them  justice,  however,  they  were 
not  indifferent  to  the  more  masculine  knowledge  necessary  in 
"  this  wrong  world."  They  talked  as  familiarly  of  the  real 
actors  of  life  as  of  the  sham  ones.  They  could  adjust  to  a 
hair  the  rival  pretensions  of  contending  statesmen.  They  did 
not  profess  to  be  deep  in  the  mysteries  of  foreign  cabinets 
(with  the  exception  of  one  young  gentleman  connected  with 
the  Foreign  Office,  who  prided  himself  on  knowing  exactly 
what  the   Ru.ssians  meant  to  do  with  India — when  they  got 


144  THE  CAXTONS. 

it !)  ;  but,  to  make  amends,  the  majority  of  them  had  pene^ 
trated  the  closest  secrets  of  our  own.  It  is  true  that,  accord- 
ing to  a  proper  subdivision  of  labor,  each  took  some  particu- 
lar member  of  the  government  for  his  special  observation  ;  just 
as  the  most  skilful  surgeons,  however  profoundly  versed  in  the 
general  structure  of  our  frame,  rest  their  anatomical  fame  on 
the  light  they  throw  on  particular  parts  of  it — one  man  taking 
the  brain,  another  the  duodenum,  a  third  the  spinal  cord,  while 
a  fourth,  perhaps,  is  a  master  of  all  the  symptoms  indicated  by 
a  pensile  finger.  Accordingly,  one  of  my  friends  appropriated 
to  himself  the  Home  Department  ;  another  the  Colonies  ;  and 
a  third,  whom  we  all  regarded  as  a  future  Talleyrand  (or  a 
De  Retz  at  least),  had  devoted  himself  to  the  special  study  of 
Sir  Robert  Peel,  and  knew,  by  the  way  in  which  that  profound 
and  inscrutable  statesman  threw  open  his  coat,  every  thought 
that  was  passing  in  his  breast !  Whether  lawyers  or  officials, 
they  all  had  a  great  idea  of  themselves — high  notions  of  what 
they  were  to  be,  rather  than  what  they  were  to  do,  some  day. 
As  the  king  of  modern  fine  gentlemen  said  of  himself,  in  para- 
phrase of  Voltaire,  "  they  had  letters  in  their  pockets  addressed 
to  Posterity,  which  the  chances  were,  however,  that  they  might 
forget  to  deliver."  Somewhat  "  priggish  "  most  of  them  might 
be  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  they  were  far  more  interesting  than 
mere  idle  men  of  pleasure.  There  was  about  them,  as  features 
of  a  general  family  likeness,  a  redundant  activity  of  life,  a  gay 
exuberance  of  ambition,  a  light-hearted  earnestness  when  at 
work,  a  schoolboy's  enjoyment  of  the  hours  of  play. 

A  great  contrast  to  these  young  men  was  Sir  Sedley  Beau- 
desert,  who  was  pointedly  kind  to  me,  and  whose  bachelor's 
house  was  always  open  to  me  after  noon ;  Sir  Sedley  was  visi- 
ble to  no  one  but  his  valet  before  that  hour.  A  perfect  bach- 
elor's house  it  was,  too,  with  its  windows  opening  on  the  Park, 
and  sofas  niched  into  the  windows,  on  which  you  might  loll  at 
your  ease,  like  the  philosopher  in  Lucretius  : 

"  Despicere  unde  queas  alios,  passimque  videre, 
Errare — " 

and  see  the  gay  crowds  ride  to  and  fro  Rotten  Row — without 
the  fatigue  of  joining  them,  especially  if  the  wind  was  in  the 
east. 

There  was  no  affectation  of  costliness  about  the  rooms,  but 
a  wonderful  accumulation  of  comfort.  Every  patent  chair 
that  proffered  a  variety  in  the  art  of  lounging  found  its  place 
there  ;  and  near  every  chair  a  little  table,  on  which  you  might 


THE  CAXtONS,  t45 

deposit  your  book  or  your  coffee-cup,  without  the  trouble  of 
moving  more  tlian  your  hand.  In  winter,  nothing  warmer  than 
the  quilted  curtains  and  Axminster  carpets  can  be  conceived. 
In  summer  nothing  airier  and  cooler  than  the  muslin  draperies 
and  the  Indian  mattings.  And  I  defy  a  man  to  know  to  what 
perfection  dinner  may  be  brought  unless  he  had  dined  with 
Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert.  Certainly,  if  that  distinguished  per- 
sonage had  but  been  an  egotist,  he  had  been  the  happiest  of 
men.  But,  unfortunately  for  him,  he  was  singularly  amiable 
and  kind-hearted.  He  had  the  bonne  digestion,  but  not 
the  other  requisite  for  worldly  felicity,  the  mauvais  cceur. 
He  felt  a  sincere  pity  for  every  one  else  who  lived  in  rooms 
without  patent  chairs  and  little  coffee  tables  ;  whose  windows 
did  not  look  on  the  Park,  with  sofas  niched  into  their  recesses. 
As  Henry  IV.  wished  every  man  to  have  his  pot  au  feu,  so  Sir 
Sedley  Beaudesert,  if  he  could  have  had  his  way,  would  have 
every  man  served  with  an  early  cucumber  for  his  fish,  and  a 
caraffe  of  iced  water  by  the  side  of  his  bread  and  cheese.  He 
thus  evinced  on  politics  a  naive  simplicity,  which  delightfully 
contrasted  his  acuteness  on  matters  of  taste.  I  remember  his 
saying,  in  a  discussion  on  the  Beer  Bill:  "The  poor  ought 
not  to  be  allowed  to  drink  beer,  it  is  so  particularly  rheumatic  ! 
The  best  drink  in  hard  work  is  dry  champagne  (not  mousseux) — 
I  found  that  out  when  I  used  to  shoot  on  the  moors." 

Indolent  as  Sir  Sedley  was,  he  had  contrived  to  open  an 
extraordinary  number  of  drains  on  his  wealth. 

First,  as  a  landed  proprietor,  there  was  no  end  to  applica- 
tions from  distressed  farmers,  aged  poor,  benefit  societies,  and 
poachers  he  had  thrown  out  of  employment  by  giving  up  his 
preserves  to  please  his  tenants. 

Next,  as  a  man  of  pleasure,  the  whole  race  of  womankind  had 
legitimate  demands  on  him.  From  a  distressed  duchess,  whose 
picture  lay  perdu  under  a  secret  spring  of  his  snuff-box,  to  a 
decayed  laundress,  to  whom  he  might  have  paid  a  compliment 
on  the  perfect  involutions  of  a  frill,  it  was  quite  sufficient  to  be 
a  daughter  of  Eve  to  establish  a  just  claim  on  Sir  Sedley's 
inheritance  from  Adam. 

Again,  as  an  amateur  of  art,  and  a  respectful  servant  of 
every  muse,  all  whom  the  public  had  failed  to  patronize — 
painter,  actor,  poet,  musician — turned,  like  dying  sunflowers 
to  the  sun,  towards  the  pitying  smile  of  Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert. 
Add  to  these  the  general  miscellaneous  multitude,  who  "  had 
heard  of  Sir  Sedley's  high  character  for  benevolence,"  and  one 
may  well  suppose  what  a  very  costly  reputation  he  had  set  up. 


14^  THE    CAXTONS. 

In  fact,  though  Sir  Seclley  could  not  spend  on  what  might 
fairly  be  called  "  himself,"  a  fifth  part  of  his  very  handsome 
income,  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  found  it  difficult  to  make 
both  ends  meet  at  the  close  of  the  year.  That  he  did  so,  he 
owed  perhaps  to  two  rules  which  his  philosophy  had  peremp- 
torily adopted.  He  never  made  debts,  and  he  never  gambled. 
For  both  these  admirable  aberrations  from  the  ordinary  routine 
of  fine  gentlemen,  I  believe  he  was  indebted  to  the  softness  of 
his  disposition.  He  had  a  great  compassion  for  a  wretch  who 
was  dunned.  "  Poor  fellow  !  "  he  would  say,  **  it  must  be  so 
painful  to  him  to  pass  his  life  in  saying  No."  So  little  did  he 
know  about  that  class  of  promisers — as  if  a  man  dunned  ever 
said  No.  As  Beau  Brummell,  when  asked  if  he  was  fond  of 
vegetables,  owned  that  he  had  once  ate  a  pea,  so  Sir  Sedley 
Beaudesert  owned  that  he  had  once  played  high  at  piquet. 
"  I  was  so  unlucky  as  to  win,"  said  he,  referring  to  that  indis- 
cretion, "  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  anguish  on  the  face  of 
the  man  who  paid  me.  Unless  I  could  always  lose,  it  would  be 
a  perfect  purgatory  to  play." 

Now  nothing  could  be  more  different  in  their  kinds  of  bene- 
volence than  Sir  Sedley  and  Mr.  Trevanion.  Mr.  Trevanion 
had  a  great  contempt  for  individual  charity.  He  rarely  put 
his  hand  into  his  purse — he  drew  a  great  check  on  his  bankers. 
Was  a  congregation  without  a  church,  or  a  village  without  a 
school,  or  a  river  without  a  bridge,  Mr.  Trevanion  set  to  work 
on  calculations,  found  out  the  exact  sum  required  by  an  alge- 
braic x—y,  and  paid  it  as  he  would  have  paid  his  butcher.  It 
must  be  owned  that  the  distress  of  a  man,  whom  he  allowed 
to  be  deserving,  did  not  appeal  to  him  in  vain.  But  it  is 
astonishing  how  little  he  spent  in  that  way.  For  it  was  hard, 
indeed,  to  convince  Mr.  Trevanion  that  a  deserving  man  ever 
was  in  such  distress  as  to  want  charity. 

That  Trevanion,  nevertheless,  did  infinitely  more  real  good 
than  Sir  Sedley,  I  believe  ;  but  he  did  it  as  a  mental  opera- 
tion— by  no  means  as  an  impulse  from  the  heart.  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  the  main  difference  was  this  :  distress  always 
seemed  to  accumulate  round  Sir  Sedley,  and  vanish  from  the 
presence  of  Trevanion.  Where  the  last  came,  with  his  bu.sy, 
active,  searching  mind,  energy  woke,  improvement  sprang  up. 
Where  the  first  came,  with  his  warm,  kind  heart,  a  kind  of  tor- 
por spread  under  its  rays  ;  people  lay  down  and  basked  in  the 
liberal  sunshine.  Nature  in  one  broke  forth  like  a  brisk,  sturdy 
winter,  in  the  other  like  a  lazy  Italian  summer.  Winter  is  an  ex- 
cellent invigorator,  no  doubt,  but  we  all  love  summer  better. 


THE   CAXTONS.  147 

Now,  it  is  a  proof  how  lovable  Sir  Sedley  was,  that  I  loved 
him,  and  yet  was  jealous  of  him.  Of  all  the  satellites  round 
my  fair  Cynthia,  Fanny  Trevanion,  I  dreaded  most  this  amia- 
ble luminary.  It  was  in  vain  for  me  to  say  with  the  insolence 
of  youth  that  Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert  was  of  the  same  age  as 
Fanny's  father  ;  to  see  them  together,  he  might  have  passed 
for  Trevanion's  son.  No  one  amongst  the  younger  genera- 
tion was  half  so  handsome  as  Sedley  Beaudesert.  He  might 
be  eclipsed  at  first  sight  by  the  showy  effect  of  more  redun- 
dant locks  and  more  brilliant  bloom.  But  he  had  but  to  speak, 
to  smile,  in  order  to  throw  a  whole  cohort  of  dandies  into  the 
shade.  It  was  the  expression  of  his  countenance  that  was  so 
bewitching;  there  was  something  so  kindly  in  its  easy  candor, 
its  benign  good-nature.  And  he  understood  women  so  well! 
He  flattered  their  foibles  so  insensibly  ;  he  commanded  their 
affection  with  so  gracious  a  dignity.  Above  all,  what  with  his 
accomplishments,  his  peculiar  reputation,  his  long  celibacy, 
and  the  soft  melancholy  of  his  sentiments,  he  always  contrived 
to  interest  them.  There  was  not  a  charming  woman  by  whom 
this  charming  man  did  not  seem  just  on  the  point  of  being 
caught !  It  was  like  the  sight  of  a  splendid  trout  in  a  trans- 
parent stream,  sailing  pensively  to  and  fro  your  fly,  in  a  will 
and  a  wont  sort  of  way.  Such  a  trout  !  It  would  be  a  thousand 
pities  to  leave  him,  when  evidently  so  well  disposed  !  That 
trout,  fair  maid,  or  gentle  widow,  would  have  kept  you — whip- 
ping the  stream  and  dragging  the  fly — from  morning  to  dewy 
eve.  Certainly  I  don't  wish  worse  to  my  bitterest  foe  of  five- 
and-twenty  than  such  a  rival  as  Sedley  Beaudesert  at  seven- 
and-forty. 

Fanny,  indeed,  perplexed  me  horribly.  Sometimes  I  fancied 
she  liked  me  ;  but  the  fancy  scarce  thrilled  me  with  delight 
before  it  vanished  in  the  frost  of  a  careless  look,  or  the  cold 
beam  of  a  sarcastic  laugh.  Spoiled  darling  of  the  world  as 
she  was,  she  seemed  so  innocent  in  her  exuberant  happiness, 
that  one  forgot  all  her  faults  in  that  atmosphere  of  joy  which 
she  diffused  around  her.  And,  despite  her  pretty  insolence, 
she  had  so  kind  a  woman's  heart  below  the  surface  !  When 
she  once  saw  that  she  had  pained  you,  she  was  so  soft,  so  win- 
ning, so  humble,  till  she  had  healed  the  wound.  But  then^  if 
she  saw  she  had  pleased  you  too  much,  the  little  witch  was 
nevei  easy  till  she  had  plagued  you  again.  As  heiress  to  so 
rich  a  father,  or  rather  perhaps  mother  (for  the  fortune  came ' 
from  Lady  Ellinor),  she  was  naturally  surrounded  with  admirers 
not  wholly  disinterested.     She  did  right  to  plague  them — but 


14^  THE   CAXTOMS. 

ME  !  Poor  boy  that  I  was,  why  should  I  seem  more  disin- 
terested than  others  !  How  should  she  perceive  all  that  lay  hid 
in  my  young,  deep  heart  ?  Was  1  not  in  all  worldly  pretensions 
the  least  worthy  of  her  admirers,  and  might  1  not  seem,  there- 
fore, the  most  mercenary  ?  I  who  never  thought  of  her  for- 
tune, or,  if  that  thought  did  come  across  me,  it  was  to  make 
me  start  and  turn  pale  !  And  then  it  vanished  at  her  first 
glance,  as  a  ghost  from  the  dawn.  How  hard  it  is  to  convince 
youth,  that  sees  all  the  world  of  the  future  before  it,  and  covers 
that  future  with  golden  palaces,  of  the  inequalities  of  life  !  In 
my  fantastic  and  sublime  romance,  I  looked  out  into  that 
Great  Beyond,  saw  myself  orator,  statesman,  minister,  ambas- 
sador— Heaven  knows  what — laying  laurels,  which  I  mistook 
for  rent-rolls,  at  Fanny's  feet. 

Whatever  Fanny  might  have  discovered  as  to  the  state  of 
my  heart,  it  seemed  an  abyss  not  worth  prying  into  by  either 
Trevanion  or  Lady  Ellinor.  The  first,  indeed,  as  may  be  sup- 
posed, was  too  busy  to  think  of  such  trifles.  And  Lady  Ellinor 
treated  me  as  a  mere  boy — almost  like  a  boy  of  her  own,  she 
was  so  kind  to  me.  But  she  did  not  notice  much  the  things 
that  lay  immediately  around  her.  In  brilliant  conversation 
with  poets,  wits,  and  statesmen  ;  in  sympathy  with  the  toils  of 
her  husband,  or  proud  schemes  for  his  aggrandizement.  Lady 
Ellinor  lived  a  life  of  excitement.  Those  large,  eager,  shining 
eyes  of  hers,  bright  with  some  feverish  discontent,  looked  far 
abroad  as  if  for  new  worlds  to  conquer — the  world  at  her  feet 
escaped  from  her  vision.  She  loved  her  daughter,  she  was 
proud  of  her,  trusted  in  her  with  a  superb  repose — she  did  not 
watch  over  her.  Lady  Ellinor  stood  alone  on  a  mountain, 
and  amidst  a  cloud. 

CHAPTER    IL 

One  day  the  Trevanions  had  all  gone  into  the  country,  on 
a  visit  to  a  retired  minister,  distantly  related  to  Lady  Ellinor, 
and  who  was  one  of  the  few  persons  Trevanion  himself  conde- 
scended to  consult.  I  had  almost  a  holiday.  I  went  to  call 
on  Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert.  I  had  always  longed  to  sound  him 
on  one  subject,  and  had  never  dared.  This  time  I  resolved  to 
pluck  up  courage. 

"  Ah,  my  young  friend  !  "  said  he,  rising  from  the  contem- 
plation of  a  villanous  picture  by  a  young  artist,  which  he  had 
just  benevolently  purchased,  "  I  was  thinking  of  you  this 
morning.     Wait  a  moment,  Summers  (this  to  the  valet).     Be 


THE    CAXTONS.  149 

SO  good  as  to  take  this  picture,  let  it  be  packed  up  and  go  down 
into  the  country.  It  is  a  sort  of  picture,"  he  added,  turning 
to  me,  "  that  requires  a  large  house.  I  have  an  old  gallery 
with  little  casements  that  let  in  no  light.  It  is  astonishing  how 
convenient  I  have  found  it !  "  As  soon  as  the  picture  was 
gone,  Sir  Sedley  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if  relieved  ;  and 
resumed  more  gayly  : 

"  Yes,  I  was  thinking  of  you  ;  and  if  you  will  forgive  any 
interference  in  your  affair.s — from  your  father's  old  friend — I 
should  be  greatly  honored  by  your  permission  to  ask  Trevan- 
ion  what  he  supposes  is  to  be  the  ultimate  benefit  of  the  hor- 
rible labors  he  inflicts  upon  you — " 

"  But,  my  dear  Sir  Sedley,  I  like  the  labors  ;  I  am  perfectly 
contented — " 

"  Not  to  remain  always  secretary  to  one  who,  if  there  were 
no  business  to  be  done  among  men,  would  set  about  teaching 
the  ants  to  built  hills  upon  better  architectural  principles  !  My 
dear  sir,  Trevanion  is  an  awful  man,  a  stupendous  man — one 
catches  fatigue  if  one  is  in  the  same  room  with  him  three  min- 
utes !  At  your  age,  an  age  that  ought  to  be  so  happy,"  con- 
tinued Sir  Sedley,  with  a  compassion  perfectly  angelic,  "  it  is 
sad  to  see  so  little  enjoyment ! " 

"  But,  Sir  Sedley,  I  assure  you  that  you  are  mistaken,  I 
thoroughly  enjoy  myself ;  and  have  I  not  heard  even  you  con- 
fess that  one  may  be  idle  and  not  happy  ? " 

"  I  did  not  confess  that  till  I  was  on  the  wrong  side  of 
forty!  "  said  Sir  Sedley,  with  a  slight  shade  on  his  brow. 

"  Nobody  would  ever  think  you  were  on  the  wrong  side  of 
forty  !  "  said  I,  with  artful  flattery,  winding  into  my  subject. 
"  Miss  Trevanion,  for  instance  ? — " 

I  paused.  Sir  Sedley  looked  hard  at  me,  from  his  bright, 
dark-blue  eyes.     "  Well,  Miss  Trevanion  for  instance  ? — " 

"  Miss  Trevanion,  who  has  all  the  best-looking  fellows  in 
London  round  her,  evidently  prefers  you  to  any  of  them." 

I  said  this  with  a  great  gulp.  I  was  obstinately  bent  on 
plumbing  the  depth  of  my  own  fears. 

Sir  Sedley  rose  ;  he  laid  his  hand  kindly  on  mine,  and  said : 
"  Do  not  let  Fanny  Trevanion  torment  you  even  more  than 
her  father  does  ! — " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Sir  Sedley  !  " 

"  But  if  I  understand  you,  that  is  more  to  the  purpose.  A 
girl  like  Miss  Trevanion  is  cruel  till  she  discovers  she  has  a 
heart.  It  is  not  safe  to  risk  one's  own  with  any  woman  till  she 
has  ceased  to  be  a  coquette.     My  dear  young  friend,  if  you 


150  THE   CAXTONS. 

took  life  less  in  earnest,  I  should  spare  you  the  pain  of  these 
hints.  Some  men  sow  flowers,  some  plant  trees — you  are 
planting  a  tree  under  which  you  will  soon  find  that  no  flower 
will  grow.  Well  and  good,  if  the  tree  could  last  to  bear  fruit 
and  give  shade  ;  but  beware  lest  you  have  to  tear  it  up  one 
day  or  other  ;  for  then — what  then  ?  Why,  you  will  find  your 
whole  life  plucked  away  with  its  roots  !  " 

Sir  Sedley  said  these  last  words  with  so  serious  an  emphasis 
that  I  was  startled  from  the  confusion  I  had  felt  at  the  former 
part  of  his  address.  He  paused  long,  tapped  his  snuff-box, 
inhaled  a  pinch  slowly,  and  continued,  with  his  more  accus- 
tomed sprightliness. 

"  Go  as  much  as  you  can  into  the  world — again  I  say  '  enjoy 
yourself.'  And  again  I  ask,  what  is  all  this  labor  to  do  for 
you  ?  On  some  men,  far  less  eminent  than  Trevanion,  it  would 
impose  a  duty  to  aid  you  in  a  practical  career,  to  secure  you 
a  public  employment — not  so  on  him.  He  would  not  mort- 
gage an  inch  of  his  independence  by  asking  a  favor  from  a 
minister.  He  so  thinks  occupation  the  delight  of  life,  that  he 
occupies  you  out  of  pure  affection.  He  does  not  trouble  his 
head  about  your  future.  He  supposes  your  father  will  pro- 
vide for  that,  and  does  not  consider  that  meanwhile  your  work 
leads  to  nothing  !  Think  over  all  this.  I  have  now  bored 
you  enough." 

I  was  bewildered — I  was  dumb  :  these  practical  men  of  the 
world,  how  they  take  us  by  surprise  !  Here  had  I  come  to 
sound  Sir  Sedley,  and  here  was  I  plumbed,  gauged,  measured, 
turned  inside  out,  without  having  got  an  inch  beyond  the  sur- 
face of  that  smiling,  debonair,  unruffled  ease.  Yet  with  his 
invariable  delicacy,  in  spite  of  all  this  horrible  frankness.  Sir 
Sedley  had  not  said  a  word  to  wound  what  he  might  think  the 
more  sensitive  part  of  my  amour  propre — not  a  word  as  to  the 
inadequacy  of  my  pretensions  to  think  seriously  of  Fanny 
Trevanion.  Had  we  been  the  Celadon  and  Chloe  of  a  country 
village,  he  could  not  have  regarded  us  as  more  equal,  so  far  as 
the  world  went.  And  for  the  rest,  he  rather  insinuated  that 
poor  Fanny,  the  great  heiress,  was  not  worthy  of  me,  than  that 
I  was  not  worthy  of  Fanny. 

I  felt  that  there  was  no  wisdom  in  stammering  and  blushing 
out  denials  and  equivocations  ;  so  I  stretched  my  hand  to  Sir 
Sedley,  took  up  my  hat, — and  went.  Instinctively  I  bent  my 
way  to  my  father's  house.  I  had  not  been  there  for  many 
days.  Not  only  had  I  had  a  great  deal  to  do  in  the  way  of 
business,  but  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  pleasure  itself  had  §0 


THE   CAXTONS.  15! 

entangled  my  leisure  hours,  and  Miss  Trevanion  especially  so 
absorbed  them,  that,  without  even  uneasy  foreboding,  I  had 
left  my  father  fluttering  his  wings  more  feebly  and  feebly  in 
the  web  of  Uncle  Jack.  When  I  arrived  in  Russell  Street,  I 
found  the  fly  and  the  spider  cheek-by-jowl  together.  Uncle 
Jack  sprang  up  at  my  entrance,  and  cried  :  "  Congratulate 
your  father.  Congratulate  him! — no;  congratulate  the 
world  !  " 

"  What,  uncle  !  "  said  I,  with  a  dismal  effort  at  sympathizing 
liveliness,  "is  the  Literary  Times  launched  at  last  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  settled — settled  long  since.  Here's  a  speci- 
men of  the  type  we  have  chosen  for  the  leaders."  And  Uncle 
Jack,  whose  pocket  was  never  without  a  wet  sheet  of  some 
kind  or  other,  drew  forth  a  steaming  papyral  monster,  which 
in  point  of  size  was  to  the  political  Times  as  a  mammoth  may 
be  to  an  elephant.  *'  That  is  all  settled.  We  are  only  prepar- 
ing our  contributors,  and  shall  put  out  our  programme  next 
week  or  the  week  after.  No,  Pisistratus,  I  mean  the  Great 
Work." 

"  My  dear  father,  I  am  so  glad.  What !  it  is  really  sold 
then  ?  " 

"  Hum  !  "  said  my  father. 

"  Sold  !  "  burst  forth  Uncle  Jack.  "  Sold — no,  sir,  we 
would  not  sell  it !  No  :  if  all  the  booksellers  fell  down  on 
their  knees  to  us,  as  they  will  some  day,  that  book  should  not 
be  sold  !  Sir,  that  book  is  a  revolution — it  is  an  era — it  is  the 
emancipator  of  genius  from  mercenary  thraldom — that 
BOOK  !  — " 

I  looked  inquiringly  from  uncle  to  father,  and  mentally  re- 
tracted my  congratulations.  Then  Mr.  Caxton,  slightly  blush- 
ing, and  shyly  rubbing  his  spectables,  said  :  "You  see,  Pisi- 
stratus, that  though  poor  Jack  has  devoted  uncommon  pains 
to  induce  the  publishers  to  recognize  the  merit  he  has  discov- 
ered in  the  '  History  of  Human  Error,'  he  has  failed  to 
do  so." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  they  all  acknowledge  its  miraculous  learn- 
ing— its — " 

"  Very  true  ;  but  they  don't  think  it  will  sell,  and  therefore 
most  selfishly  refuse  to  buy  it.  One  bookseller,  indeed,  of- 
fered to  treat  for  it  if  I  would  leave  out  all  about  the  Hotten^ 
tots  and  Caffres,  the  Greek  philosophers  and  Egyptian  priests, 
and  confining  myself  solely  to  polite  society,  entitle  the  work 
*  Anecdotes  of  the  Courts  of  Europe,  ancient  and  modern.'  " 

"  The  wretch  I  "  groaned  Uncle  Jack, 


152  THE    CAXTONS. 

"  Another  thought  it  might  be  cut  up  into  little  essays, 
leaving  out  the  quotations,  entitled  '  Men  and  Manners.'  A 
third  was  kind  enough  to  observe,  that  though  this  particular 
work  was  quite  unsalable,  yet,  as  I  appeared  to  have  some  his- 
torical information,  he  should  be  happy  to  undertake  a  his- 
torical romance  from  *my  graphic  pen  ' — that  was  the  phrase, 
was  it  not,  Jack  ? " 

Jack  was  too  full  to  speak. 

— "  Provided  I  would  introduce  a  proper  love-plot,  and 
make  it  into  three  volumes  post  octavo,  twenty-three  lines  in 
a  page,  neither  more  nor  less.  One  honest  fellow  at  last  was 
found,  who  seemed  to  me  a  very  respectable  and  indeed  enter- 
prising person.  And  after  going  through  a  list  of  calcula- 
tions, which  showed  that  no  possible  profit  could  arise,  he 
generously  offered  to  give  me  half  of  those  no-profits,  pro- 
vided I  would  guarantee  half  the  very  visible  expenses.  I 
was  just  meditating  the  prudence  of  accepting  this  proposal 
when  your  uncle  was  seized  with  a  sublime  idea,  which  has 
whisked  up  my  book  in  a  whirlwind  of  expectation." 

"  And  that  idea?"  said  I  despondently. 

"  That  idea,"  quoth  Uncle  Jack,  recovering  himself,  "  is 
simply  and  shortly  this.  From  time  immemorial,  authors  have 
been  the  prey  of  the  publishers.  Sir,  authors  have  lived  in 
garrets,  nay,  have  been  choked  in  the  street  by  an  unexpected 
crumb  of  bread,  like  the  man  who  wrote  the  play,  poor 
fellow ! " 

"  Otway,"  said  my  father.  "  The  story  is  not  true — no 
matter." 

"  Milton,  sir,  as  everybody  knows,  sold '  Paradise  Lost'  for  ten 
pounds — ten  pounds,  sir  !  In  short,  instances  of  a  like  nature 
are  too  numerous  to  quote.  But  the  booksellers,  sir — they  are 
leviathans — they  roll  in  seas  of  gold.  They  subsist  upon  au- 
thors as  vampires  upon  little  children.  But  at  last  endurance 
has  reached  its  limit ;  the  fiat  has  gone  forth ;  the  tocsin  of 
liberty  has  resounded — authors  have  burst  their  fetters.  And 
we  have  just  inaugurated  the  institution  of  *  The  Grand 
Anti-Publisher  Confederate  Authors'  Society,'  by 
which,  Pisistratus — by  which,  mark  you,  every  author  is  to  be 
his  own  publisher  ;  that  is,  every  author  who  joins  the  Society. 
No  more  submission  of  immortal  works  to  mercenary  calcula- 
tors, to  sordid  tastes  !  No  more  hard  bargains  and  broken 
hearts !  No  more  crumbs  of  bread  choking  great  tragic 
poets  in  the  streets  !  No  more  '  Paradise  Lost '  sold  at 
^10  apiece  !     The  author  brings  his  book  to  a  select  com- 


tME   CAXTONS.  153 

mittee  appointed  for  the  purpose  ;  men  of  delicacy,  educa- 
tion, and  refinement — authors  themselves  ;  they  read  it,  the 
Society  publish  ;  and  after  a  modest  deduction,  which  goes 
toward  the  funds  of  the  Society,  the  Treasurer  hands  over  the 
profits  to  the  author." 

"  So  that  in  fact,  uncle,  every  author  who  can't  find  a  pub- 
lisher anywhere  else,  will  of  course  come  to  the  Society.  The 
fraternity  will  be  numerous." 

"  It  will  indeed." 

"  And  the  speculation — ruinous." 

"  Ruinous,  why  ?  " 

"  Because,  in  all  mercantile  negotiations,  it  is  ruinous  to  in- 
vest capital  in  supplies  which  fail  to  demand.  You  undertake 
to  publish  books  that  booksellers  will  not  publish — why  ?  Be- 
cause booksellers  can't  sell  them  !  It  is  just  probable  that 
you'll  not  sell  them  any  better  than  the  booksellers.  Ergo,  the 
more  your  business,  the  larger  your  deficit.  And  the  more  nu- 
merous your  society,  the  more  disastrous  your  condition- 
Q.E.D." 

"  Pooh  !  The  select  committee  will  decide  what  books  are 
to  be  published." 

"  Then,  where  the  deuce  is  the  advantage  to  the  authors  !  I 
would  as  lief  submit  my  work  to  a  publisher  as  I  would  to  a 
select  committee  of  authors.  At  all  events,  the  publisher  is 
not  my  rival ;  and  I  suspect  he  is  the  best  judge,  after  all,  of 
a  book — an  an  accoucheur  ought  to  be  of  a  baby." 

"  Upon  my  word,  nephew,  you  pay  a  bad  compliment  to 
your  father's  Great  Work,  which  the  booksellers  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with." 

That  was  artfully  said,  and  I  was  posed  ;  when  Mr.  Caxton 
observed,  with  an  apologetic  smile  : 

"  The  fact  is,  my  dear  Pisistratus,  that  I  want  my  book  pub- 
lished without  diminishing  the  little  fortune  I  keep  for  you 
some  day.  Uncle  Jack  starts  a  society  so  to  publish  it. 
Health  and  long  life  to  Uncle  Jack's  society  !  One  can't  look 
a  gift  horse  in  the  mouth." 

Here  my  mother  entered,  rosy  from  a  shopping  expedition 
with  Mrs.  Primmins  ;  and  in  her  joy  at  hearing  that  I  could 
stay  dinner,  all  else  was  forgotten.  By  a  wonder,  which  I 
did  not  regret.  Uncle  Jack  really  was  engaged  to  dine  out. 
He  had  other  irons  in  the  fire  besides  the  Literary  Times  and 
the  '*  Confederate  Authors'  Society  "  ;  he  was  deep  in  a  scheme 
for  making  house-tops  of  felt  ( which,  under  other  hands, 
has,   I   believe,  since  succeeded);  and  he  had  found  a  rich 


154  THE   CAXTONS. 

man  (  I  suppose  a  hatter )  who  seemed  well  inclined  to  the  proj- 
ect, and  had  actually  asked  him  to  dine  and  expound  his 
views. 

CHAPTER  III. 

Here  we  three  are  seated  round  the  open  window,  after 
dinner,  familiar  as  in  the  old  happy  time,  and  my  mother  is 
talking  low  that  she  may  not  disturb  my  father,  who  seems  in 
thought. 

Cr-cr-crrr-cr-cr-!  I  feel  it — I  have  it.  Where  !  What  ! 
Where  !  Knock  it  down — brush  it  off  !  For  Heaven's  sake, 
see  to  it !  Crrrr-crrrrr — there — here — in  my  hair — in  my 
sleeve — in  my  ear.     Cr-cr. 

I  say  solemnly,  and  on  the  word  of  a  Christian,  that,  as  I  sat 
down  to  begin  this  chapter,  being  somewhat  in  a  brown  study, 
the  pen  insensibly  slipped  from  my  hand,  and  leaning  back  in 
my  chair,  I  fell  to  gazing  into  the  fire.  It  is  the  end  of  June, 
and  a  remarkable  cold  evening,  even  for  that  time  of  year. 
And  while  I  was  so  gazing,  I  felt  something  crawling,  just  by 
the  nape  of  the  neck,  ma'am.  Instinctively  and  mechanically, 
and  still  musing,  I  put  my  hand  there,  and  drew  forth — What? 
That  what  it  is  which  perplexes  me.  It  was  a  thing — a  dark 
thing — a  much  bigger  thing  than  I  had  expected.  And  the  sight 
took  me  so  by  surprise,  that  I  gave  my  hand  a  violent  shake,  and 
the  thing  went — where  I  know  not.  The  what  and  the  where 
are  the  knotty  points  in  the  whole  question  !  No  sooner  had 
it  gone  than  I  was  seized  with  repentance  not  to  have 
examined  it  more  closely,  not  to  have  ascertained  what  the 
creature  was.  It  might  have  been  an  earwig — a  very  large, 
motherly  earwig — an  earwig  far  gone  in  that  way  in  which 
earwigs  wish  to  be  who  love  their  lords.  I  have  a  profound 
horror  of  earwigs — I  firmly  believe  that  they  do  get  into  the 
ear.  That  is  a  subject  on  which  it  is  useless  to  argue  with  me 
upon  philosophical  grounds.  I  have  a  vivid  recollection  of  a 
story  told  me  by  Mrs.  Primmins — How  a  lady  for  many  years 
suffered  under  the  most  excruciating  headaches  ;  how,  as  the 
tombstones  say,  "physicians  were  in  vain";  how  she  died; 
and  how  her  head  was  opened,  and  how  such  a  nest  of  ear- 
wigs— ma'am — such  a  nest  !  Earwigs  are  the  prolifickest 
thing,  and  so  fond  of  their  offspring  !  They  sit  on  their  eggs 
like  hens,  and  the  young,  as  soon  as  they  are  born,  creep 
under  them  for  protection — quite  touchingly  !  Imagine  such 
an  establishment  domesticated  at  one's  tympanum  ! 


THE   CAXTONS.  155 

But  the  creature  was  certainly  larger  than  an  earwig.  It 
might  have  been  one  of  that  genus  in  the  family  of  Forficulidae, 
called  Labidoura — monsters  whose  antennae  have  thirty  joints  ! 
There  is  a  species  of  this  creature  in  England,  but  to  the  great 
grief  of  naturalists,  and  to  the  great  honor  of  Providence,  very 
rarely  found,  infinitely  larger  than  the  common  earwig  or 
Forficulida  auriculana.  Could  it  have  been  an  early  hornet? 
It  had  certainly  a  black  head,  and  great  feelers.  I  have  a 
greater  horror  of  hornets,  if  possible,  than  I  have  of  earwigs. 
Two  hornets  will  kill  a  man,  and  three  a  carriage-horse  sixteen 
hands  high.  However,  the  creature  was  gone.  Yes,  but 
where  ?  Where  had  I  so  rashly  thrown  it  ?  It  might  have  got 
into  a  fold  of  my  dressing-gown  or  into  my  slippers — or,  in 
short,  anywhere,  in  the  various  recesses  for  earwigs  and  horn- 
ets which  a  gentleman's  habiliments  afford.  I  satisfy  myself 
at  last,  as  far  as  I  can,  seeing  that  lam  not  alone  in  the  room — 
that  it  is  not  upon  me.  I  look  upon  the  carpet,  the  rug,  the 
chair,  under  the  fender.  It  is  non  inventus.  I  barbarously 
hope  it  is  frizzing  behind  that  great  black  coal  in  the  grate. 
I  pluck  up  courage  ;  I  prudently  remove  to  the  other  end 
of  the  room.  I  take  up  my  pen — I  begin  my  chapter — very 
nicely,  too,  I  think  upon  the  whole.  lam  just  getting  into 
my  subject,  when — cr-cr-cr-cr-cr-crawl-crawl-crawl-creep — 
creep — creep.  Exactly,  my  dear  ma'am,  in  the  same  place 
it  was  before  !  Oh,  by  the  Powers  !  I  forgot  all  my  scientific 
regrets  at  not  having  scrutinized  its  genus  before,  whether 
Forficulida  or  Labidoura.  I  made  a  desperate  lunge  with 
both  hands — something  between  thrust  and  cut,  ma'am.  The 
beast  is  gone.  Yes,  but  again  where  ?  I  say  that  that  where  is  a 
very  horrible  question.  Having  come  twice,  in  spite  of  all 
my  precautions — and  exactly  on  the  same  spot,  too — it  shows 
a  confirmed  disposition  to  habituate  itself  to  its  quarters,  to 
effect  a  parochial  settlement  upon  me  ;  there  is  something 
awful  and  preternatural  in  it.  I  assure  you  that  there  is  not  a 
part  of  me  that  has  not  gone  cr-cr-cr  ! — that  has  not 
crept,  and  crawled,  and  forficulated  ever  since  ;  and  I  put  it  to 
you  what  sort  of  a  chapter  I  can  make  after  such  a —  My  good 
little  girl,  will  you  just  take  the  candle,  and  look  carefully 
under  the  table  ? — that's  a  dear !  Yes,  my  love,  very  black 
indeed,  with  two  horns,  and  inclined  to  be  corpulent.  Gentle- 
men and  ladies  who  have  cultivated  an  acquaintance  with  the 
Phoenician  language,  are  aware  that  Belzebub,  examined  ety- 
mologically  and  entomologically,  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
Baalzebub — "  the  Jupiter-fly  " — an  emblem  of  the  Destroying 


156  THE   CAXTONS. 

Attribute,  which  attribute,  indeed,  is  found  in  all  the  insect 
tribes  more  or  less.  Wherefore,  as  Mr.  Payne  Knight,  in  his 
"  Inquiry  into  Symbolical  Languages,"  hath  observed,  the 
Egyptian  priests  shaved  their  whole  bodies,  even  to  their  eye- 
brows, lest  unaware  they  should  harbor  any  of  the  minor 
Zebubs  of  the  great  Baal.  If  I  were  the  least  bit  more  per- 
suaded that  that  black  cr-cr  were  about  me  still,  and  that  tiie 
sacrifice  of  my  eyebrows  would  deprive  him  of  shelter,  by  the 
souls  of  the  Ptolemies  !  I  would — and  I  will  too.  Ring  the 
bell,  my  little  dear  !  John,  my — my  cigar-box  !  There  is  not 
a  cr  in  the  world  that  can  abide  the  fumes  of  the  Havanna  ! 
Pshaw  !  sir,  I  am  not  the  only  man  who  lets  his  first  thoughts 
upon  cold  steel  end,  like  this  chapter,  in — Pff — pff — pff — ! 

CHAPTER    IV. 

Everything  in  this  world  is  of  use,  even  a  black  thing 
crawling  over  the  nape  of  one's  neck  !  Grim  unknown  !  I 
shall  make  of  thee — a  sirnile  ! 

I  think,  ma'am,  you  will  allow  that  if  an  accident  such  as  I 
have  described  had  befallen  yourself,  and  you  had  a  proper 
and  lady-like  horror  of  earwigs  (however  motherly  and  fond  of 
their  offspring),  and  also  of  early  hornets — and  indeed  of  all 
unknown  things  of  the  insect  tribe  with  black  heads  and  two 
great  horns,  or  feelers,  or  forceps,  just  by  your  ear — I  think, 
ma'am,  you  will  allow  that  you  would  find  it  difficult  to  settle 
back  to  your  former  placidity  of  mood  and  innocent  stitch- 
work.  You  would  feel  a  something  that  grated  on  youf  nerves, 
and  cr'd-cr'd  "all  over  you  like,"  as  the  children  say.  And 
the  worst  is,  that  you  would  be  ashamed  to  say  it.  You  would 
feel  obliged  to  look  pleased  and  join  in  the  conversation,  and 
not  fidget  too  much,  nor  always  be  shaking  your  flounces,  and 
looking  into  a  dark  corner  of  your  apron.  Thus  it  is  with 
many  other  things  in  life  besides  black  insects.  One  has 
a  secret  care — an  abstraction — a  something  between  the 
memory  and  the  feeling,  of  a  dark,  crawling  cr,  which  one  has 
never  dared  to  analyze.  So  I  sat  by  my  mother,  trying  to 
smile  and  talk  as  in  the  old  time,  but  longing  to  move  about 
and  look  around,  and  escape  to  my  own  solitude,  and  take  the 
clothes  off  my  mind,  and  see  what  it  was  that  had  so  troubled 
and  terrified  me — for  trouble  and  terror  were  upon  me.  And 
my  mother,  who  was  always  (Heaven  bless  her  !)  inquisitive 
enough  in  all  that  concerned  her  darling  Anachronism,  was 
especially  inquisitive  that  evening.     She  made  me  say  wbere  I 


THE   CAXTONS.  157 

bad  been,  and  what  I  had  done,  and  how  I  had  spent  my  time— • 
and  Fanny  Trevanion  (whom  she  had  seen,  by  the  way,  three 
or  four  times,  and  whom  she  thought  the  prettiest  person  in 
the  world) — oh,  she  must  know  exactly  what  I  thought  of 
Fanny  Trevanion  ! 

And  all  this  while  my  father  seemed  in  thought  ;  and  so, 
with  my  arm  over  my  mother's  chair,  and  my  hand  in  hers,  I 
answered  my  mother's  questions — sometimes  by  a  stammer, 
sometimes  by  a  violent  effort  at  volubility  ;  when  at  some  in- 
terrogatory that  went  tingling  right  to  my  heart,  I  turned 
uneasily,  and  there  were  my  father's  eyes  fixed  on  mine. 
Fixed  as  they  had  been — when,  and  none  knew  why,  I  pined 
and  languished,  and  my  father  said  "  he  must  go  to  school." 
Fixed,  with  quiet,  watchful  tenderness.  Ah,  no  ! — his  thoughts 
had  not  been  on  the  Great  Work — he  had  been  deep  in  the 
pages  of  that  less  worthy  one  for  which  he  had  yet  more  an 
author's  paternal  care.  1  met  those  eyes,  and  yearned  to  throw 
myself  on  his  heart — and  tell  him  all.  Tell  him  what  ?  Ma'am, 
I  no  more  knew  what  to  tell  him,  than  I  know  what  that  black 
thing  was  which  has  so  worried  me  all  this  blessed  evening  ! 

"  Pisistratus,"  said  my  father  softly,  "I  fear  you  have  for- 
gotten the  saffron  bag." 

"  No,  indeed,  sir,"  said  I,  smiling. 

'*  He,"  resumed  my  father — "  he  who  wears  the  saffron 
bag  has  more  cheerful,  settled  spirits  than  you  seem  to  have, 
my  boy." 

"  My  dear  Austin,  his  spirits  are  very  good,  I  think,"  said  my 
mother  anxiously. 

My  father  shook  his  head — then  he  took  two  or  three  turns 
about  the  room. 

"  Shall  I  ring  for  candles,  sir?  It  is  getting  dark  :  you  will 
wish  to  read  ?  " 

"  No,  Pisistratus,  it  is  you  who  shall  read,  and  this  hour  of 
twilight  best  suits  the  book  I  am  about  to  open  to  you." 

So  saying,  he  drew  a  chair  between  me  and  my  mother,  and 
seated  himself  gravely,  looking  down  a  long  time  in  silence, 
then  turning  his  eyes  to  each  of  us  alternately. 

"  My  dear  wife,"  said  he  at  length,  almost  solemnly,  "  I  am 
going  to  speak  of  myself  as  1  was  before  I  knew  you." 

Even  in  the  twilight  I  saw  that  my  mother's  countenance 
changed. 

"  You  have  respected  my  secrets,  Katherine,  tenderly,  hon- 
estly. Now  the  time  is  come  when  I  can  tell  them  to  you  and 
to  our  son." 


l$Z  THE   CAXTONSo 


CHAPTER  V. 

MY  FATHER  S  FIRST  LOVE 

"I  LOST  my  mother  early  ;  my  father  (a  good  man,  but  who 
was  so  indolent  that  he  rarely  stirred  from  his  chair,  and  who 
often  passed  whole  days  without  speaking,  like  an  Indian  der- 
vish) left  Roland  and  myself  to  educate  ourselves  much  ac- 
cording to  our  own  tastes.  Roland  shot,  and  hunted,  and 
fished  ;  read  all  the  poetry  and  books  of  chivalry  to  be  found 
in  my  father's  collection,  which  was  rich  in  such  matters,  and 
made  a  great  many  copies  of  the  old  pedigree — the  only  thing 
in  which  my  father  ever  evinced  much  vital  interest.  Early  in 
life  I  conceived  a  passion  for  graver  studies,  and  by  good  luck 
I  found  a  tutor  in  Mr.  Tibbets,  who,  but  for  his  modesty,  Kitty, 
would  have  rivalled  Person.  He  was  a  second  Budaeus  for 
industry,  and  by  the  way,  he  said  exactly  the  same  thing  that 
Budaeus  did,  viz., '  that  the  only  lost  day  in  his  life  was  that  in 
which  he  was  married  ;  for  on  that  day  he  had  only  had  six 
hours  for  reading  ! '  Under  such  a  master  I  could  not  fail  to 
be  a  scholar.  I  came  from  the  university  with  such  distinc- 
tion as  led  me  to  look  sanguinely  on  my  career  in  the  world. 

"  I  returnedtomy  father's  quiet  rectory  to  pause  and  consider 
what  path  I  should  take  to  fame.  The  rectory  was  just  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  on  the  brow  of  which  were  the  ruins  of  the  castle 
Roland  has  since  purchased.  And  though  I  did  not  feel  for 
the  ruins  the  same  romantic  veneration  as  my  dear  brother  (for 
my  day-dreams  were  more  colored  by  classic  than  feudal  rec- 
ollections), I  yet  loved  to  climb  the  hill,  book  in  hand,  and 
built  my  castles  in  the  air  amidst  the  wrecks  of  that  which 
time  had  shattered  on  the  earth. 

"  One  day,  entering  the  old,  weed-grown  court,  I  saw  a  lady 
seated  on  my  favorite  spot,  sketching  the  ruins.  The  lady 
was  young — more  beautiful  than  any  woman  I  had  yet  seen, 
at  least  to  my  eyes.  In  a  word,  I  was  fascinated,  and,  as 
the  trite  phrase  goes,  'spellbound.'  I  seated  myself  at  a 
little  distance,  and  contemplated  her  without  desiring  to 
speak.  By  and  by,  from  another  part  of  the  ruins,  which  were 
then  uninhabited,  came  a  tall,  imposing,  elderly  gentleman, 
with  a  benignant  aspect ;  and  a  little  dog.  The  dog  ran  up 
to  me  barking.  This  drew  the  attention  of  both  lady  and 
gentleman  to  me.  The  gentleman  approached,  called  off 
the  dog,  and  apologized  with  much  politeness.  Survey- 
ing me  somewhat  curiously,  he  then   began    to  ask    ques- 


THE   CAXTONS.  159 

tions  about  the  old  place  and  the  family  it  had  belonged  to, 
with  the  name  and  the  antecedents  of  which  he  was  well 
acquainted.  By  degrees  it  came  out  that  I  was  the  descend- 
ant of  that  family,  and  younger  son  of  the  humble  rector 
who  was  now  its  representative.  The  gentleman  then  introduced 
himself  to  me  as  the  Earl  of  Rainsforth,  the  principal  proprietor 
in  the  neighborhood,  but  who  had  so  rarely  visited  the  county 
during  my  childhood  and  earlier  youth  that  I  had  never  before 
seen  him.  His  only  son,  however,  a  young  man  of  great 
promise,  had  been  at  the  same  college  with  me  in  my  first  year 
at  the  university.  The  young  lord  was  a  reading  man  and  a 
scholar  ;  and  we  had  become  slightly  acquainted  when  he  left 
for  his  travels. 

"  Now,  on  hearing  my  name.  Lord  Rainsforth  took  my  hand 
cordially,  and,  leading  me  to  his  daughter,  said  :  '  Think, 
EUinor,  how  fortunate  !  This  is  the  Mr.  Caxton  whom  your 
brother  so  often  spoke  of.' 

"  In  short,  my  dear  Pisistratus,  the  ice  was  broken,  the 
acquaintance  made,  and  Lord  Rainsforth,  saying  he  was  come 
to  atone  for  his  long  absence  from  the  county,  and  to  reside 
at  Compton  the  greater  part  of  the  year,  pressed  me  to  visit 
him.  I  did  so.  Lord  Rainsforth's  liking  to  me  increased  ;  I 
went  there  often." 

My  father  paused,  and  seeing  my  mother  had  fixed  her 
eyes  upon  him  with  a  sort  of  mournful  earnestness,  and  had 
pressed  her  hands  very  tightly  together,  he  bent  down  and 
kissed  her  forehead. 

"  There  is  no  cause,  my  child  !  "  said  he.  It  was  the  only 
time  I  ever  heard  him  address  my  mother  so  parentally.  But 
then  I  never  heard  him  before  so  grave  and  solemn — not  a 
quotation,  too — it  was  incredible  :  it  was  not  my  father  speak- 
ing, it  was  another  man.  "  Yes,  I  went  there  often.  Lord 
Rainsforth  was  a  remarkable  person.  Shyness  that  was 
wholly  without  pride  (which  is  rare),  and  a  love  for  quiet  liter- 
ary pursuits,  had  prevented  his  taking  that  personal  part  in 
public  life  for  which  he  was  richly  qualified  ;  but  his  reputa- 
tion for  sense  and  honor,  and  his  personal  popularity,  had 
given  him  no  inconsiderable  influence  even,  I  believe,  in  the 
formation  of  cabinets,  and  he  had  once  been  prevailed  upon 
to  fill  a  high  diplomatic  situation  abroad,  in  which  I  have  no 
doubt  that  he  was  as  miserable  as  a  good  man  can  be  under 
any  infliction.  He  was  now  pleased  to  retire  from  the  world, 
and  look  at  it  through  the  loopholes  of  retreat.  Lord  Rains- 
forth had  a  great  respect  for  talent,  and  a  warm  interest  in 


l6o  THE   CAXTONS. 

such  of  the  young  as  seemed  to  him  to  possess  it.  By  talent, 
indeed,  his  family  had  risen,  and  were  strikingly  characterized. 
His  ancester,  the  first  peer,  had  been  a  distinguished  lawyer  ; 
his  father  had  been  celebrated  for  scientific  attainments  ;  his 
children,  EUinor  and  Lord  Pendarvis,  were  highly  accom- 
plished. Thus  the  family  identified  themselves  with  the  aris- 
tocracy of  intellect,  and  seemed  unconscious  of  their  claims  to 
the  lower  aristocracy  of  rank.  You  must  bear  this  in  mind 
throughout  my  story. 

"  Lady  Ellinor  shared  her  father's  tastes  and  habits  of 
thought  (she  was  not  then  an  heiress).  Lord  Rainsforth  talked 
to  me  of  my  career.  It  was  a  time  when  the  French  Revolu- 
tion had  made  statesmen  look  round  with  some  anxiety  to 
strengthen  the  existing  order  of  things,  by  alliance  with  all  in 
the  rising  generation  who  evinced  such  ability  as  might 
influence  their  contemporaries. 

"  University  distinction  is,  or  was  formerly,  among  the  pop- 
ular passports  to  public  life.  By  degrees,  Lord  Rainsforth 
liked  me  so  well  as  to  suggest  to  me  a  seat  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  A  member  of  Parliament  might  rise  to  anything, 
and  Lord  Rainsforth  had  sufficient  influence  to  effect  my 
return.  Dazzling  prospect  this  to  a  young  scholar  fresh  from 
Thucydides,  and  with  Demosthenes  fresh  at  his  tongue's  end. 
My  dear  boy,  I  was  not  then,  you  see,  quite  what  I  am  now  ; 
in  a  word,  I  loved  Ellinor  Compton,  and  therefore  I  was 
ambitious.  You  know  how  ambitious  she  is  still.  But  1  could 
not  mould  my  ambition  to  hers.  I  could  not  contemplate 
entering  the  senate  of  my  country  as  a  dependent  on  a  party 
or  a  patron — as  a  man  who  must  make  his  fortune  there — as  a 
man  who,  in  every  vote,  must  consider  how  much  nearer  he 
advanced  himself  to  emolument.  I  was  not  even  certain  that 
Lord  Rainsforth's  views  on  politics  were  the  same  as  mine 
would  be.  How  could  the  politics  of  an  experienced  man  of 
the  world  be  those  of  an  ardent  young  student  ?  But  had  they 
been  identical,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  so  creep  into  equality 
with  a  patron's  daughter.  No  !  I  was  ready  to  abandon  my 
own  more  scholastic  predilections  ;  to  strain  every  energy  at 
the  bar  ;  to  carve  or  force  my  own  way  to  fortune — and  if  I 
arrived  at  independence,  then — what  then  ?  Why,  the  right  to 
speak  of  love,  and  aim  at  power.  This  was  not  the  view  of 
Ellinor  Compton.  The  law  seemed  to  her  a  tedious,  needless 
drudgery  :  there  was  nothing  in  it  to  captivate  her  imagination. 
She  listened  to  me  with  that  charm  which  she  yet  retains,  and 
by  whith  she  seems  to  identify  herself  with  those  who  speak  to 


THE    CAXT0K3.  l6l 

her.  She  would  turn  to  me  with  a  pleading  look  when  her 
father  dilated  on  the  brilliant  prospects  of  a  parliamentary  suc- 
cess ;  for  he  (not  having  gained  it,  yet  having  lived  with  those 
who  had)  overvalued  it,  and  seemed  ever  to  wish  to  enjoy  it 
through  some  other.  But  when  I,  in  turn,  spoke  of  independence, 
of  the  bar,  EUinor's  face  grew  overcast.  The  world — the  world 
was  with  her,  and  the  ambition  of  the  world,  which  is  always 
for  power  or  effect  !  A  part  of  the  house  lay  exposed  to  the 
east  wind.  '  Plant  half-way  down  the  hill,'  said  I  one  day. 
'  Plant  I  '  cried  Lady  Ellinor — '  it  will  be  twenty  years  before 
the  trees  grow  up.  No,  my  dear  father,  build  a  wall,  and 
cover  it  with  creepers  !  '  That  was  an  illustration  of  her  whole 
character.  She  could  not  wait  till  trees  had  time  to  grow  ;  a 
dead  wall  would  be  so  much  more  quickly  thrown  up,  and 
parasite  creepers  would  give  it  a  prettier  effect.  Nevertheless, 
she  was  a  grand  and  noble  creature.  And  I — in  love  !  Not 
so  discouraged  as  you  may  suppose  ;  for  Lord  Rainsforth  often 
hinted  encouragement,  which  even  I  could  scarcely  misconstrue. 
Not  caring  for  rank,  and  not  wishing  for  fortune  beyond  com- 
petence for  his  daughter,  he  saw  in  me  all  he  required — a  gen- 
tleman of  ancient  birth,  and  one  in  whom  his  own  active  mind 
could  prosecute  that  kind  of  mental  ambition  which  overflowed 
in  him,  and  yet  had  never  had  its  vent.  And  Ellinor  ! 
Heaven  forbid  I  should  say  she  loved  me,  but  something  made 
me  think  she  could  do  so.  Under  these  notions,  suppressing 
all  my  hopes,  I  made  a  bold  effort  to  master  the  influences 
round  me,  and  to  adopt  that  career  I  thought  worthiest  of  us 
all.     I  went  to  London  to  read  for  the  bar." 

"  The  bar  !  Is  it  possible  ? "  cried  L  My  father  smiled 
sadly. 

"  Everything  seemed  possible  to  me  then.  I  read  some 
months.  I  began  to  see  my  way  even  in  that  short  time  ; 
began  to  comprehend  what  would  be  the  difficulties  before  me, 
and  to  feel  there  was  that  within  me  which  could  master  them. 
I  took  a  holiday  and  returned  to  Cumberland.  I  found  Ro- 
land there  on  my  return.  Always  of  a  roving,  adventurous 
temper,  though  he  had  not  then  entered  the  army,  he  had,  for 
more  than  two  years,  been  wandering  over  Great  Britain  and 
Ireland  on  foot.  It  was  a  young  knight-errant  whom  I 
embraced,  and  who  overwhelmed  me  with  reproaches  that  I 
should  be  reading  for  the  law.  'I'here  had  never  been  a  lawyer 
in  the  family  !  It  was  about  that  time,  I  think,  that  I  petrified 
him  with  the  discovery  of  the  printer  !  I  knew  not  exactly 
wherefore,  whether  from  jealousy,  fear,  foreboding — but  itcer- 


l62  THE    CAXTONS. 

tainly  was  a  pain  that  seized  me,  when  I  learned  from  Roland 
that  he  had  become  intimate  at  Compton  Hall.  Roland  and 
Lord  Rainsforth  had  met  at  the  house  of  a  neighboring  gentle- 
man, and  Lord  Rainsforth  had  welcomed  his  acquaintance,  at 
first,  perhaps,  for  my  sake,  afterwards  for  his  own. 

"  I  could  not  for  the  life  of  me,"  continned  my  father,  "  ask 
Roland  if  he  admired  Ellinor ;  but  when  I  found  that  he  did 
not  put  that  question  to  me,  I  trembled  ! 

"  We  went  to  Compton  together,  speaking  little  by  the  way. 
We  stayed  there  some  days." 

My  father  here  thrust  his  hand  into  his  waistcoat — all  men 
have  their  little  ways,  which  denote  much  ;  and  when  my  father 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  waistcoat,  it  was  always  a  sign  of  some 
mental  effort — he  was  going  to  prove,  or  to  argue,  to  moralize, 
or  to  preach.  Therefore,  though  I  was  listening  before  with 
all  my  ears,  I  believe  I  had,  speaking  magnetically  and  mes- 
merically,  an  extra  pair  of  ears,  a  new  sense  supplied  to  me, 
when  my  father  put  his  hand  into  his  waistcoat. 

CHAPTER  VL 

WHEREIN    MY    FATHER    CONTINUES    HIS    STORY, 

"  There  is  not  a  mystical  creation,  type,  symbol,  or  poetical 
invention  for  meanings  abstruse,  recondite,  and  incompre- 
hensible, which  is  not  represented  by  the  female  gender,"  said 
my  father,  having  his  hand  quite  buried  in  his  waistcoat. 
"  For  instance,  the  Sphynx  and  Isis,  whose  veil  no  man  had 
ever  lifted,  were  both  ladies,  Kitty  !  And  so  was  Persephone, 
who  must  be  always  either  in  heaven  or  hell — and  Hecate, 
who  was  one  thing  by  night  and  another  by  day.  The  Sibyls 
were  females  ;  and  so  were  the  Gorgons,  the  Harpies,  the 
Furies,  the  Fates,  and  the  Teutonic  Valkyrs,  Nornies,  and 
Hela  herself  :  in  short,  all  representations  of  ideas,  obscure, 
inscrutable,  and  portentous,  are  nouns  feminine." 

Heaven  bless  my  father  !  Augustine  Caxton  was  himself 
again  !  I  began  to  fear  that  the  story  had  slipped  away  from 
him,  lost  in  that  labyrinth  of  learning.  But,  luckily,  as  he 
paused  for  breath,  his  look  fell  on  those  limpid  blue  eyes  of 
my  mother's,  and  that  honest  open  brow  of  hers,  which  had 
certainly  nothing  in  common  with  Sphynges,  Fates,  Furies,  or 
Valkyrs  ;  and,  whether  his  heart  smote  him,  or  his  reason 
made  him  own  that  he  had  fallen  into  a  very  disingenuous  and 
unsound  train  of  assertion,  I  know  not,  but  his  front  relaxed, 
and  with  a  smile  he  resumed.     "  Ellinor  was  the  last  person 


THE    CAXTONS.  163 

in  the  world  to  deceive  any  one  willingly.  Did  she  deceive  me 
and  Roland  that  we  both,  though  not  conceited  men,  fancied 
that,  if  we  had  dared  to  speak  openly  of  love,  we  had  not  so 
dared  in  vain  ?  Or  do  you  think,  Kitty,  that  a  woman  i-eally 
can  love  (not  much,  perhaps,  but  somewhat)  two  or  three,  or 
half-a-dozen  at  a  time  ?  " 

"  Impossible  !  "  cried  my  mother.  "  And  as  for  this  Lady 
Ellinor,  1  am  shocked  at  her — I  don't  know  what  to  call  it  !  " 

"  Nor  I  either,  my  dear,"  said  my  father,  slowly  taking  his 
hand  from  his  waistcoat,  as  if  the  effort  were  too  much  for  him, 
and  the  problem  were  insoluble.  "  But  this,  begging  your 
pardon,  I  do  think,  that  before  a  young  woman  does  really, 
truly,  and  cordially  centre  her  affections  on  one  object,  she 
suffers  fancy,  imagination,  the  desire  of  power,  curiosity,  or 
Heaven  knows  what,  to  simulate,  even  to  her  own  mind,  pale 
reflections  of  the  luminary  not  yet  risen- — parhelia  that  pre- 
cede the  sun.  Don't  judge  of  Roland  as  you  see  him  now, 
Pisistratus — grim,  and  gray,  and  formal  ;  imagine  a  nature 
soaring  high  amongst  daring  thoughts,  or  exuberant  with  the 
nameless  poetry  of  youthful  life,  with  a  frame  matchless  for 
bounding  elasticity,  an  eye  bright  with  haughty  fire,  a  heart 
from  which  noble  sentiments  sprang  like  sparks  from  an  anvil. 
Lady  Ellinor  had  an  ardent,  inquisitive  imagination.  This 
bold,  fiery  nature  must  have  moved  her  interest.  On  the 
other  hand,  she  had  an  instructed,  full,  and  eager  mind.  Am 
I  vain  if  I  say,  now  after  the  lapse  of  so  many  years,  that  in 
my  mind  her  intellect  felt  companionship  ?  When  a  woman 
loves,  and  marries,  and  settles,  why  then  she  becomes — a  one 
whole,  a  completed  being.  But  a  girl  like  Ellinor  has  in  her 
many  women.  Various  herself,  all  varieties  please  her.  I  do 
believe  that,  if  either  of  us  had  spoken  the  word  boldly.  Lady 
Ellinor  would  have  shrunk  back  to  her  own  heart — examined 
it,  tasked  it,  and  given  a  frank  and  generous  answer.  And  he 
who  had  spoken  first  might  have  had  the  better  chance  not  to 
receive  a  '  No.'  But  neither  of  us  spoke.  And  perhaps  she 
was  rather  curious  to  know  if  she  had  made  an  impression, 
than  anxious  to  create  it.  It  was  not  that  she  willingly 
deceived  us,  but  her  whole  atmosphere  was  delusion.  Mists 
come  before  the  sunrise.  However  this  be,  Roland  and  I 
were  not  long  in  detecting  each  other.  And  hence  arose,  first 
coldness,  then  jealousy,  then  quarrel." 

"  Oh,  my  father,  your  love  must  have  been  indeed  powerful, 
to  have  made  a  breach  between  the  hearts  of  two  such 
brothers ! " 


164  THE    CAXTONS. 

"  Yes,"  said  my  father  ;  "  it  was  amidst  the  old  ruins  of  the 
castle,  there,  where  I  had  first  seen  Ellinor,  that,  winding  my 
arm  round  Roland's  neck,  as  I  found  him  seated  amongst  the 
weeds  and  stones,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands— it  was  there 
that  I  said  :  '  Brother,  we  both  love  this  woman  !  My  nature 
is  the  calmer  of  the  two,  shall  feel  the  loss  less.  Brother, 
shake  hands,  and  God  speed  you,  for  I  go  !  '  " 

"  Austin  !  "  murmured  my  mother,  sinking  her  head  on  my 
father's  breast. 

"And  therewith  we  quarrelled.  For  it  was  Roland  who  in- 
sisted, while  the  tears  rolled  down  his  eyes,  and  he  stamped  his 
foot  on  the  ground,  that  he  was  the  intruder,  the  interloper  ; 
that  he  had  no  hope  ;  that  he  had  been  a  fool  and  a  madman  ; 
and  that  it  was  for  him  to  go  !  Now,  while  we  were  disput- 
ing, and  words  began  to  run  high,  my  father's  old  servant 
entered  the  desolate  place,  with  a  note  from  Lady  Ellinor  to 
me,  asking  for  the  loan  of  some  book  I  had  praised.  Roland 
saw  the  handwriting,  and  while  1  turned  the  note  over  and  over 
irresolutely,  before  I  broke  the  seal,  he  vanished. 

"  He  did  not  return  to  my  father's  house.  We  did  not  know 
what  had  become  of  him.  But  I,  thinking  over  that  impulsive, 
volcanic  nature,  took  quick  alarm.  And  I  went  in  search  of 
him  ;  came  on  his  track  at  last  ;  and,  after  many  days,  found 
him  in  a  miserable  cottage  amongst  the  most  dreary  of  the 
dreary  wastes  which  form  so  large  a  part  of  Cumberland.  He 
was  so  altered  I  scarcely  knew  him.  To  be  brief,  we  came  at 
last  to  a  compromise.  We  would  go  back  to  Compton. 
This  suspense  was  intolerable.  One  of  us  at  least  should  take 
courage  and  learn  his  fate.  But  who  should  speak  first  ?  We 
drew  lots,  and  the  lot  fell  on  me. 

"  And  now  that  I  was  really  to  pass  the  Rubicon — now  that 
I  was  to  impart  that  secret  hope  which  had  animated  me  so 
long — been  to  me  a  new  life — what  were  my  sensations  ?  My 
dear  boy,  depend  on  it  that  that  age  is  the  happiest,  when  such 
feelings  as  I  felt  then  can  agitate  us  no  more.  They  are  mis- 
takes in  the  serene  order  of  that  majestic  life  which  heaven 
meant  for  thoughtful  man.  Our  souls  should  be  as  stars  on 
earth,  not  as  meteors  and  tortured  comets.  What  could  I  offer 
to  Ellinor — to  her  father?  What  but  a  future  of  patient  labor  .> 
And  in  either  answer,  what  alternative  of  misery  ! — my  own 
existence  shattered,  or  Roland's  noble  heart  ! 

"Well,  we  went  to  Compton.  In  our  former  visits  we  had 
been  almost  the  only  guests.  Lord  Rainsforth  did  not  much 
affect  the  intercourse  of  country  squires,  less  educated  then 


THE   CAXTONS.  165 

than  now.  And  in  excuse  for  Ellinor  ana  for  us,  we  were 
almost  the  only  men  of  our  own  age  she  had  seen  in  that  large, 
dull  house.  But  now  the  London  season  had  broken  up,  the 
house  was  filled  ;  there  was  no  longer  that  familiar  and  con- 
stant approach  to  the  mistress  of  the  Hall  which  had  made  us 
like  one  family.  Great  ladies,  fine  people,  were  round  her  ;  a 
look,  a  smile,  a  passing  word  were  as  much  as  I  had  a  right  to 
expect.  And  the  talk,  too,  how  different  !  Before,  I  could 
speak  on  books — I  was  at  home  there  !  Roland  could  pour 
forth  his  dreams,  his  chivalrous  love  for  the  past,  his  bold  defi- 
ance of  the  unknown  future.  And  Ellinor,  cultivated  and 
fanciful,  could  sympathize  with  both.  And  her  father,  scholar 
and  gentleman,  could  sympathize  too.     But  now — " 

CHAPTER  VH. 

WHEREIN    MY    FATHER    BRINGS    OUT    HIS    DENOUEMENT. 

"  It  is  no  use  in  the  world,"  said  my  father,  "  to  know  all 
the  languages  expounded  in  grammars  and  splintered  up  into 
lexicons,  if  we  don't  learn  the  language  of  the  world.  It  is  a 
talk  apart,  Kitty,"  cried  my  father,  warming  up.  "It  is  an 
ANAGLYPH — a  spoken  anaglyph,  my  dear  !  If  all  the  hiero- 
glyphs of  the  Egyptians  had  been  ABC  to  you,  still  if  you 
did  not  know  the  anaglyph,  you  would  know  nothing  of  the 
true  mysteries  of  the  priests.* 

"  Neither  Roland  nor  I  knew  one  symbol  letter  of  the 
anaglyph.  Talk,  talk — talk  on  persons  we  never  heard  of, 
things  we  never  cared  for.  All  ive  thought  of  importance, 
puerile  or  pedantic  trifles — all  we  thought  so  trite  and  childish, 
the  grand  momentous  business  of  life  !  If  you  found  a  little 
schoolboy,  on  his  half-holiday,  fishing  for  minnows  with  a 
crooked  pin,  and  you  began  to  tell  him  of  all  the  wonders  of 
the  deep,  the  laws  of  the  tides,  and  the  antediluvian  relics  of 
iguanodon  and  ichthyosaurus — nay,  if  you  spoke  but  of  pearl 
fisheries,  and  coral  banks,  or  water-kelpies  and  naiads,  would 
not  the  Httle  boy  cry  out  peevishly:  'Don't  tease  me  with  all 
that  nonsense  !  Let  me  fish  in  peace  for  my  minnows.'  I 
think  the  little  boy  is  right  after  his  own  way — it  was  to  fish 
for  minnows  that  he  came  out,  poor  child,  not  to  hear  about 
iguanodons  and  water-kelpies  ! 

"  So  the  company  fished  for  minnows,  and  not  a  word  could 
we  say  about  our  pearl  fisheries  and  coral  banks !     And  as  for 

♦  The  anaglyph  was  peculiar  to  the  Egyptian  priests— the  hieroglyph  generally  known 
to  the  well  educated. 


l66  THE   CAXT0N3. 

fishing  for  minnows  ourselves,  my  dear  boy,  we  should  have 
been  less  bewildered  if  you  had  asked  us  to  fish  for  a  mer- 
maid !  Do  you  see,  now,  one  reason  why  I  have  let  you  go 
thus  early  into  the  world  ?  Well,  but  amongst  these  minnow- 
fishers  there  was  one  who  fished  with  an  air  that  made  the 
minnows  look  larger  than  salmons. 

"  Trevanion  had  been  at  Cambridge  with  me.  We  were 
even  intimate.  He  was  a  young  man  like  myself,  with  his  way 
to  make  in  the  world.  Poor  as  I — of  a  fam.ily  upon  a  par  with 
mine — old  enough,  but  decayed.  There  was,  however,  this 
difference  between  us.  He  had  connections  in  the  great 
world,  I  had  none.  Like  me,  his  chief  pecuniary  resource  was 
a  college  fellowship.  Now,  Trevanion  had  established  a  high 
reputation  at  the  University ;  but  less  as  a  scholar,  though  a 
pretty  fair  one,  than  as  a  man  to  rise  in  life.  Every  faculty 
he  had  was  an  energy.  He  aimed  at  everything — lost  some 
things,  gained  others.  He  was  a  great  speaker  in  a  debating 
society,  a  member  of  some  politico-economical  club.  He  was 
an  eternal  talker — brilliant,  various,  paradoxical,  florid — 
different  from  what  he  is  now.  For,  dreading  fancy,  his 
career  since  has  been  one  effort  to  curb  it.  But  all  his 
mind  attached  itself  to  something  that  we  Englishmen  call 
solid :  it  was  a  large  mind — not,  my  dear  Kitty,  like  a  fine 
whale  sailing  through  knowledge  from  the  pleasure  of  sailing, 
but  like  a  polypus,  that  puts  forth  all  its  feelers  for  the  purpose 
of  catching  hold  of  something.  Trevanion  had  gone  at  once 
to  London  from  the  University  :  his  reputation  and  his  talk 
dazzled  his  connections,  not  unjustly.  They  made  an  effort ; 
they  got  him  into  Parliament :  he  had  spoken,  he  had  suc- 
ceeded. He  came  to  Compton  in  the  flush  of  his  virgin  fame. 
I  cannot  convey  to  you  who  know  him  now — with  his  careworn 
face,  and  abrupt,  dry  manner,  reduced  by  perpetual  gladiator- 
ship  to  the  skin  and  bone  of  his  former  self — what  that  man 
was  when  he  first  stepped  into  the  arena  of  life. 

"You  see,  my  listeners,  that  you  have  to  recollect  that  we 
middle-aged  folks  were  young  then — that  is  to  say,  we  were  as 
different  from  what  we  are  now,  as  the  green  bough  of  summer 
is  from  the  dry  wood,  out  of  which  we  make  a  ship  or  a  gate- 
post. Neither  man  nor  wood  comes  to  the  uses  of  life  till  the 
green  leaves  are  stripped  and  the  sap  gone.  And  then  the 
uses  of  life  transform  us  into  strange  things  with  other  names  : 
the  tree  is  a  tree  no  more — it  is  a  gate  or  a  ship  ;  the  youth  is 
a  youth  no  more,  but  a  one-legged  soldier  ;  a  hollow-eyed 
statesman  ;  a  scholar  spectacled  and  slippered  !     When  Micyl- 


THE  CAXTONS.  15; 

lus  (here  the  hand  slides  into  the  waistcoat  again  !) — when 
Micyilus,"  said  my  father,  **  asked  the  cock  that  had  once  been 
Pythagoras,*  if  the  affair  of  Troy  was  really  as  Homer  told  it, 
the  cock  replied  scornfully :  *  How  could  Homer  know  any- 
thing about  it  ?  At  that  time  he  was  a  camel  in  Bactria.' 
Pisistratus,  according  to  the  doctrine  of  metempsychosis,  you 
might  have  been  a  Bactrian  camel,  when  that  which  to  my  life 
was  the  siege  of  Troy  saw  Roland  and  Trevanion  before  the 
walls. 

"  Handsome  you  can  see  that  Trevanion  has  been  ;  but  the 
beauty  of  his  countenance  then  was  in  its  perpetual  play,  its 
intellectual  eagerness  ;  and  his  conversation  was  so  discursive, 
so  various,  so  animated,  and,  above  all,  so  full  of  the  things  of 
the  day  !  If  he  had  been  a  priest  of  Serapis  for  fifty  years, 
he  could  not  have  known  the  anaglyph  better !  Therefore  he 
filled  up  every  crevice  and  pore  of  that  hollow  society  with  his 
broken,  inquisitive,  petulant  light.  Therefore  he  was  admired, 
talked  of,  listened  to  ;  and  everybody  said  :  *  Trevanion  is  a 
rising  man.' 

"  Yet  I  did  not  do  him  then  the  justice  I  have  done  since — 
for  we  students  and  abstract  thinkers  are  apt  too  much,  in  our 
first  youth,  to  look  to  the  depth  of  a  man's  mind  or  knowledge, 
and  not  enough  to  the  surface  it  may  cover.  There  may  be 
more  water  in  a  flowing  stream,  only  four  feet  deep,  and  cer- 
tainly more  force  and  more  health,  than  in  a  sullen  pool,  thirty 
yards  to  the  bottom.  I  did  not  do  Trevanion  justice.  I  did 
not  see  how  naturally  he  realized  Lady  Ellinor's  ideal.  1  have 
said  that  she  was  like  many  women  in  one.  Trevanion  was  a 
thousand  men  in  one.  He  had  learning  to  please  her  mind, 
eloquence  to  dazzle  her  fancy,  beauty  to  please  her  eye,  reputa- 
tion precisely  of  the  kind  to  allure  her  vanity,  honor  and  con- 
scientious purpose  to  satisfy  her  judgment.  And,  above  all, 
he  was  ambitious.  Ambitious  not  as  I — not  as  Roland  was, 
but  ambitious  as  EUinor  was  :  ambitious,  not  to  realize  some 
grand  ideal  in  the  silent  heart,  but  to  grasp  the  practical, 
positive  substances  that  lay  without. 

"  Eliinor  was  a  child  of  the  great  world,  and  so  was  he, 

"  I  saw  not  all  this,  nor  did  Roland  ;  and  Trevanion  seemed 
to  pay  no  particular  court  to  Eliinor. 

"  But  the  time  approached  when  I  ought  to  speak.  The 
house  began  to  thin.  Lord  Rainsforth  had  leisure  to  resume 
his  easy  conferences  with  me  ;  and  one  day,  walking  in  his  gar- 
den, he  gave  me  the  opportunity.     For  I  need  not  say,  Pisi- 

♦  Lucian  "  The  Dream  of  Micyilus." 


l68  THE   CAXTONS. 

Stratus,"  said  my  father,  looking  at  me  earnestly,  "  that  before 
any  man  of  honor,  if  of  inferior  worldly  pretensions,  will  open 
his  heart  seriously  to  the  daughter,  it  is  his  duty  to  speak  first 
to  the  parent,  whose  confidence  has  imposed  that  trust."  I 
bowed  my  head  and  colored. 

*'  I  know  not  how  it  was,"  continued  my  father,  "  but  Lord 
Rainsforth  turned  the  conversation  on  Ellinor.  After  speak- 
ing of  his  expectations  in  his  son,  who  was  returning  home,  he 
said  :  *  But  he  will  of  course  enter  public  life — will,  I  trust, 
soon  marry,  have  a  separate  establishment,  and  I  shall  see  but 
little  of  him.  My  Ellinor  ! — I  cannot  bear  the  thought  of 
p^.rting  wholly  with  her.  And  that,  to  say  the  selfish  truth,  is 
one  reason  why  I  have  never  wished  her  to  marry  a  rich  man, 
and  so  leave  me  forever.  I  could  hope  that  she  will  give  her- 
self to  one  who  may  be  contented  to  reside  at  least  great  part 
of  the  year  with  me — who  may  bless  me  with  another  son,  not 
steal  from  me  a  daughter.  1  do  not  mean  that  he  should  waste 
his  life  in  the  country  ;  his  occupations  would  probably  lead 
him  to  London.  I  care  not  where  my  house  is — all  I  want  is 
to  keep  my  home.  You  know  (he  added,  with  a  smile  that  I 
thought  meaning)  how  often  I  have  implied  to  you  that  I 
have  no  vulgar  ambition  for  Ellinor.  Her  portion  must  be 
very  small,  for  my  estate  is  strictly  entailed,  and  I  have  lived 
too  much  up  to  my  income  all  my  life  to  hope  to  save  much 
now.  But  her  tastes  do  not  require  expense,  and  while  I  live, 
at  least,  there  need  be  no  change.  She  can  only  prefer  a  man 
whose  talents,  congenial  to  hers,  will  win  their  own  career,  and 
ere  I  die  that  career  maybe  made.'  Lord  Rainsforth  paused  ; 
and  then — how,  in  what  words  I  know  not — but  out  all  burst ! — 
my  long-suppressed,  timid,  anxious,  doubtful,  fearful  love. 
The  strange  energy  it  had  given  to  a  nature  till  then  so  retir- 
ing and  calm  !  My  recent  devotion  to  the  law  ;  my  confidence 
that,  with  such  a  prize,  I  could  succeed — it  was  but  a  transfer 
of  labor  from  one  study  to  another.  Labor  could  conquer  all 
things,  and  custom  sweeten  them  in  the  conquest.  The  bar 
was  a  less  brilliant  career  than  the  senate.  But  the  first  aim 
of  the  poor  man  should  be  independence.  In  short,  Pisistra- 
tus,  wretched  egotist  that  I  was,  I  forgot  Roland  in  that 
moment  ;  and  I  spoke  as  one  who  felt  his  life  was  in  his  words. 

"  Lord  Rainsforth  looked  at  me,  when  I  had  done,  with  a 
countenance  full  of  affection,  but  it  was  not  cheerful. 

"  '  My  dear  Caxton,'  said  he  tremulously,  *  I  own  that  I  once 
wished  this — wished  it  from  the  hour  I  knew  you  ;  but  why 
did  you  so  long — I  never  suspected  that — nor,  I  am  sure,  did 


THE   CAXTONS,  1 69 

ElHnor.'  He  stopped  short,  and  added  quickly  :  *  However, 
go  and  speak,  as  you  have  spoken  to  me,  to  EUinor.  Go,  it 
may  not  yet  be  too  late.     And  yet — but  go.' 

"  Too  late  !  What  meant  those  words  ?  Lord  Rainsforth 
had  turned  hastily  down  another  walk,  and  left  me  alone,  to 
ponder  over  an  answer  which  concealed  a  riddle.  Slowly  I 
took  my  way  towards  the  house,  and  sought  Lady  Ellinor,  half 
hoping,  half  dreading  to  find  her  alone.  There  was  a  little 
room  communicating  with  a  conservatory,  where  she  usually 
sat  in  the  morning,     Thither  I  took  my  course. 

"  That  room,  I  see  it  still  ! — the  walls  covered  with  pictures 
from  her  own  hand,  many  were  sketches  of  the  haunts  we  had 
visited  together  ;  the  simple  ornaments,  womanly  but  not 
effeminate  ;  the  very  books  on  the  table,  that  had  been  made 
familiar  by  dear  associations.  Yes  ;  there,  the  Tasso  in  which 
we  had  read  together  the  episode  of  Clorinda ;  there,  the 
yEschylus  in  which  I  translated  to  her  the  Prometheus.  Pedan- 
tries these  might  seem  to  some  ;  pedantries,  perhaps,  they 
were  ;  but  they  were  proofs  of  that  congeniality  which  had  knit 
the  man  of  books  to  the  daughter  of  the  world.  That  room,  it 
was  the  home  of  my  heart.  Such,  in  my  vanity  of  spirit, 
methought  would  be  the  air  round  a  home  to  come.  I  looked 
about  me,  troubled  and  confused,  and,  halting  timidly,  I  saw 
Ellinor  before  me,  leaning  her  face  on  her  hand,  her  cheek 
more  flushed  than  usual,  and  tears  in  her  eyes.  I  approached 
in  silence,  and,  as  I  drew  my  chair  to  the  table,  my  eye  fell  on 
a  glove  on  the  floor.  It  was  a  man's  glove.  Do  you  know," 
said  my  father,  "  that  once,  when  I  was  very  young,  I  saw  a 
Dutch  picture  called  The  Glove,  and  the  subject  was  of  murder. 
There  was  a  weed-grown,  marshy  pool,  a  desolate,  dismal  land- 
scape, that  of  itself  inspired  thoughts  of  ill  deeds  and  terror. 
And  two  men,  as  if  walking  by  chance,  came  to  this  pool  ;  the 
finger  of  one  pointed  to  a  blood-stained  glove,  and  the  eyes  of 
both  were  fixed  on  each  other,  as  if  there  were  no  need  of 
words.  That  glove  told  its  tale  !  The  picture  had  long  haunted 
me  in  my  boyhood,  but  it  never  gave  me  so  uneasy  and  fearful 
a  feeling  as  did  that  real  glove  upon  the  floor.  Why?  My 
dear  Pisistratus,  the  theory  of  forebodings  involves  one  of 
those  questions  on  which  we  may  ask  *  why  '  forever.  More 
chilled  than  I  had  been  in  speaking  to  her  father,  I  took  heart 
at  last,  and  spoke  to  Ellinor — " 

My  father  stopped  short,  the  moon  had  risen,  and  was  shin- 
ing full  into  the  room  and  on  his  face.  And  by  that  light  the 
face  was  changed  ;  young  emotions  had  brought  back  youth— 


170  THE    CAXTONS. 

my  father  looked  a  young  man.  But  what  pain  was  there  ! 
If  the  memory  alone  could  raise  what,  after  all,  was  but  the 
ghost  of  suffering,  what  had  been  its  living  reality  !  Involun- 
tatily  I  seized  his  hand  ;  my  father  pressed  it  convulsively,  and 
said,  with  a  deep  breath  :  "  It  was  too  late  ;  Trevanion  was  Lady 
Ellinor's  accepted,  plighted,  happy  lover.  My  dear  Katherine, 
I  do  not  envy  him  now  ;  look  up,  sweet  wife  !  look  up  !  " 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

"  Ellinor  (let  me  do  her  justice)  was  shocked  at  my  silent 
emotion.  No  human  lip  could  utter  more  tender  sympathy, 
more  noble  self-reproach  ;  but  that  was  no  balm  to  my  wound. 
So  I  left  the  house  ;  so  I  never  returned  to  the  law  ;  so  all 
impetus,  all  motive  for  exertion,  seemed  taken  from  my  being  ; 
so  I  went  back  into  books.  And  so,  a  moping,  despondent, 
worthless  mourner  I  might  have  been  to  the  end  of  my  days, 
but  that  Heaven,  in  its  mercy,  sent  thy  mother,  Pisistratus, 
across  my  path  ;  and  day  and  night  I  bless  God  and  her,  for  I 
have  been,  and  am — oh,  indeed,  I  am,  a  happy  man  !  " 

My  mother  threw  herself  on  my  father's  breast,  sobbing 
violently,  and  then  turned  from  the  room  without  a  word — my 
father's  eye,  swimming  in  tears,  followed  her ;  and  then,  after 
pacing  the  room  for  some  moments  in  silence,  he  came  up  to 
me,  and  leaning  his  arm  on  my  shoulder,  whispered,  "  Can  you 
guess  why  I  have  now  told  you  all  this,  my  son  ?  " 

"  Yes,  partly  :  thank  you,  father,"  I  faltered,  and  sat  down, 
for  I  felt  faint. 

"  Some  sons,"  said  my  father,  seating  himself  beside  me, 
would  find  in  their  father's  follies  and  errors  an  excuse  for 
their  own  ;  not  so  will  you,  Pisistratus." 

"  I  see  no  folly,  no  error,  sir  ;  only  nature  and  sorrow." 

"  Pause  ere  you  thus  think,"  said  my  father.  "  Great  was 
the  folly,  and  great  the  error,  of  indulging  imagination  that  had 
no  basis — of  linking  the  whole  usefulness  of  my  life  to  the  will 
of  a  human  creature  like  myself.  Heaven  did  not  design  the 
passion  of  love  to  be  this  tyrant ;  nor  is  it  so  with  the  mass 
and  multitude  of  human  life.  We  dreamers,  solitary  students 
like  me,  or  half-poets  like  poor  Roland,  make  our  own  disease. 
How  many  years,  even  after  I  had  regained  serenity,  as  your 
mother  gave  me  a  home  long  not  appreciated,  have  I  wasted  ! 
The  mainspring  of  my  existence  was  snapped  ;  I  took  no  note 
of  time.  And  therefore  now,  you  see,  late  in  life,  Nemesis 
wakes.     I  look  back  with  regret  at  powers  neglected,  opportu- 


THE    CAXTONS.  17I 

ni'ties  gone.  Galvanically,  I  brace  up  energies  half-palsied  by 
disuse  ;  and  you  see  me,  rather  than  rest  quiet  and  good  for 
nothing,  talked  into  what,  I  daresay,  are  sad  follies,  by  an  Uncle 
Jack  !  And  now  I  behold  Ellinor  again  ;  and  I  say  in  wonder, 
'  All  this — all  this — all  this  agony,  all  this  torpor,  for  that  hag- 
gard face,  that  worldly  spirit !  '  So  is  it  ever  in  life.  Mortal 
things  fade  ;  immortal  things  spring  "more  freshly  with  every 
step  to  the  tomb. 

"Ah  !  "  continued  my  father,  with  a  sigh,  "  it  would  not  have 
been  so,  if  at  your  age  I  had  found  out  the  secret  of  the  saf- 
fron bag  ! " 

CHAPTER  IX. 

"  And  Roland,  sir,"  said  I — "  how  did  he  take  it  ?" 
"  With  all  the  indignation  of  a  proud,  unreasonable  man. 
More  indignant,  poor  fellow,  for  me  than  himself.  And  so 
did  he  wound  and  gall  me  by  what  he  said  of  Ellinor,  and  so 
did  he  rage  against  me  because  I  would  not  share  his  rage, 
that  again  we  quarrelled.  We  parted,  and  did  not  meet  for 
many  years.  We  came  into  sudden  possession  of  our  little 
fortunes.  His  he  devoted  (as  you  may  know)  to  the  purchase 
of  the  old  ruins,  and  the  commission  in  the  army,  which  had 
always  been  his  dream — and  so  went  his  way,  wrathful.  My 
share  gave  me  an  excuse  for  indolence  :  it  satisfied  all  my 
wants  ;  and  when  my  old  tutor  died,  and  his  young  child 
became  my  ward,  and  somehow  or  other,  from  my  ward  my 
wife,  it  allowed  me  to  resign  my  fellowship,  and  live  amongst 
my  books — still  as  a  book  myself.  One  comfort,  somewhat 
before  my  marriage,  I  had  conceived  ;  and  that,  too,  Roland 
has  since  said  was  comfort  to  him.  Ellinor  became  an  heiress. 
Her  poor  brother  died  ;  and  all  of  the  estate  that  did  not  pass 
in  the  male  line  devolved  on  her.  That  fortune  made  a  gulf 
between  us  almost  as  wide  as  her  marriage.  For  Ellinor,  poor 
and  portionless,  in  spite  of  her  rank,  I  could  have  worked, 
striven,  slaved.  But  Ellinor  rich  !  it  would  have  crushed  me. 
This  was  a  comfort.  But  still,  still  the  past — that  perpetual 
aching  sense  of  something  that  had  seemed  the  essential  of 
life  withdrawn  from  life,  evermore,  evermore  !  What  was  left 
was  not  sorrow,  it  was  a  void.  Had  I  lived  more  with  men, 
and  less  with  dreams  and  books,  I  should  have  made  my 
nature  large  enough  to  bear  the  loss  of  a  single  passion.  But 
in  solitude  we  shrink  up.  No  plant  so  much  as  man  needs  the 
sun  and  the  air.  I  comprehend  now  why  most  of  our  best 
and  wisest  men  have  lived  in  capitals  ;  and  therefore  again  I 


172  THE   CAXTONS. 

say,  that  one  scholar  in  a  family  is  enough.  Confiding  in 
your  sound  heart  and  strong  honor,  I  turn  you  thus  betimes 
on  the  world.  Have  I  done  wrong  ?  Prove  that  I  have  not, 
my  child.  Do  you  know  what  a  very  good  man  has  said  ? 
Listen  and  follow  my  precept,  not  example. 

"  '  The  state  of  the  w9rld  is  such,  and  so  much  depends  on 
action,  that  everything  seems  to  say  aloud  to  every  man,  '  Do 
something — do  it — do  it  ! '  "  * 

I  was  profoundly  touched,  and  I  rose  refreshed  and  hopeful, 
when  suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  who  or  what  in  the  world 
should  come  in  ;  but  certainly  he,  she,  it,  or  they,  shall  not 
come  into  this  chapter !  On  that  point  1  am  resolved.  No, 
my  dear  young  lady,  I  am  extremely  flattered  ;  I  feel  for  your 
curiosity  ;  but  really  not  a  peep — not  one  !  And  yet — well 
then,  if  you  will  have  it,  and  look  so  coaxingly — who  or  what, 
I  say,  should  come  in  abrupt,  unexpected — taking  away  one's 
breath,  not  giving  one  time  to  say  "  By  your  leave,  or  with 
your  leave,"  but  making  one's  mouth  stand  open  with  surprise, 
and  one's  eyes  fix  in  a  big,  round,  stupid  stare,  but — 

THE  END  OF  THE  CHAPTER. 


PART  EIGHTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

There  entered,  in  the  front  drawing-room  of  my  father's 
house  in  Russell  Street — an  Elf  ! !  !  clad  in  white — small,  deli- 
cate, with  curls  of  jet  over  her  shoulders  ;  with  eyes  so  large 
^nd  so  lustrous  that  they  shone  through  the  room,  as  no  eyes 
merely  human  could  possibly  shine.  The  Elf  approached,  and 
stood  facing  us.  The  sight  was  so  unexpected,  and  the  appa- 
rition so  strange,  that  we  remained  for  some  moments  in 
startled  silence.  At  length  my  father,  as  the  bolder  and  wiser 
man  of  the  two,  and  the  more  fitted  to  deal  with  the  eerie 
things  of  another  world,  had  the  audacity  to  step  close  up  to 
the  little  creature,  and,  bending  down  to  examine  its  face,  said  : 
"  What  do  you  want,  my  pretty  child  ?  " 

Pretty  child  !  was  it  only  a  pretty  child  after  all  ?  Alas,  it 
would  be  well  if  all  we  mistake  for  fairies  at  the  first  glance 
could  resolve  themselves  only  into  pretty  children  ! 

*  "  Remains  of  the  Rev.  Richard  Cecil,"  p.  349, 


Tim    CAX.TONS.  173 

"Come,"  answered  tlie  child,  wilh  a  foreign  accent,  and  tak- 
ing my  father  by  the  lappet  of  his  coat,  "come,  poor  papa  is  so 
ill  !     I  am  frightened  !     Come — and  save  him — " 

"  Certainly,"  exclaimed  my  father  quickly  :  "Where's  my 
hat,  Sisty  ?     Certainly,  my  child,  we  will  go  and  save  papa." 

"  But  who  is  papa  ?  "  asked  Pisistratus — a  question  that 
would  never  have  occurred  to  my  father.  He  never  asked  who 
or  what  the  sick  papas  of  poor  children  were,  when  the  chil- 
dren pulled  him  by  the  lappet  of  his  coat — "  Who  is  papa  ?" 

The  child  looked  hard  at  me,  and  the  big  tears  rolled  from 
those  large  luminous  eyes,  but  quite  silently.  At  this  moment 
a  full-grown  figure  filled  up  the  threshold,  and,  emerging  from 
the  shadow,  presented  to  us  the  aspect  of  a  stout,  well-favored 
young  woman.  She  dropped  a  curtsey,  and  then  said,  minc- 
ingly  : 

"  Oh,  miss,  you  ought  to  have  waited  for  me,  and  not  alarmed 
the  gentlefolks  by  running  upstairs  in  that  way.  If  you  please, 
sir,  I  was  settling  with  the  cabman,  and  he  was  so  imperent : 
them  low  fellows  always  are,  when  they  have  only  us  poor 
women  to  deal  with,  sir,  and — " 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  cried  I,  for  my  father  had  taken 
the  child  in  his  arms,  soothingly,  and  she  was  now  weeping  on 
his  breast. 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir  (another  curtsey),  the  gent  only  arrived 
last  night  at  our  hotel,  sir — The  Lamb,  close  by  Lunnun 
Bridge — and  he  was  taken  ill — and  he's  not  quite  in  his  right 
mind  like  ;  so  we  sent  for  the  doctor,  and  the  doctor  looked 
at  the  brass  plate  on  the  gent's  carpet-bag,  sir,  and  then  he 
looked  into  Xhe.  Court  Guide,  dL\'\(\  he  said:  'There  is  a  Mr. 
Caxton  in  Great  Russell  Street, — is  he  any  relation  ? '  and  this 
young  lady  said  :  *  That's  my  papa's  brother,  and  we  were 
going  there.'  And  so,  sir,  as  the  Boots  was  out,  I  got  into  a 
cab,  and  miss  would  come  with  me,  and — " 

"  Roland — Roland  ill  !  Quick — quick,  quick  !  "  cried  my 
father,  and,  with  the  child  still  in  his  arms,  he  ran  down  the 
stairs.  I  followed  with  his  hat,  which  of  course  he  had  forgot- 
ten. A  cab,  by  good  luck,  was  passing  our  very  door  ;  but  the 
chambermaid  would  not  let  us  enter  it  till  she  had  satisfied 
herself  that  it  was  not  the  same  she  had  dismissed.  This  pre- 
liminary investigation  completed,  we  entered,  and  drove  to 
The  Lamb. 

The  chambermaid,  who  sate  opposite,  passed  the  time  in 
ineffectual  overtures  to  relieve  my  father  of  the  little  girl,  who 
still  clung  nestling  to  his  breast  ;  in  a  long  epic,  much  broken 


174  THE    CAX'/ONS;. 

into  episodes,  of  the  causes  which  had  led  to  her  dismissal  of 
the  late  cabman,  who,  to  swell  his  fare,  had  thought  proper  to 
take  a  "circumbendibus  !  "  and  with  occasional  tugs  at  her  cap, 
and  smoothings  down  of  her  gown,  and  apologies  for  being 
such  a  figure,  especially  when  her  e3^es  rested  on  my  satin 
cravat,  or  drooped  on  my  shining  boots. 

Arrived  at  The  Lamb,  the  chambermaid,  with  conscious 
dignity,  led  us  up  a  large  staircase,  which  seemed  interminable. 
As  she  mounted  the  region  above  the  third  story,  she  paused 
to  take  breath,  and  inform  us  apologetically,  that  the  house 
was  full,  but  that,  if  the  "  gent  "  stayed  ovsr  Friday,  he  would 
be  moved  ir.to  No.  54,  "  with  a  lookout  and  a  chimbly."  My 
little  cousin  now  slipped  from  my  father's  arms,  and  running 
up  the  stairs,  beckoned  to  us  to  follow.  We  did  so,  and  were 
led  to  a  door,  at  which  the  child  stopped  and  listened  ;  then, 
taking  off  her  shoes,  she  stole  in  on  tip-toe.  We  entered  after 
her. 

By  the  light  of  a  single  candle  we  saw  my  poor  uncle's  face  : 
it  was  flushed  with  fever,  and  the  eyes  had  that  bright,  vacant 
stare  which  it  is  so  terrible  to  meet.  Less  terrible  is  it  to  find 
the  body  wasted,  the  features  sharp  with  the  great  life-strug- 
gle, than  to  look  on  the  face  from  which  the  mind  is  gone — the 
eyes  in  which  there  is  no  recognition.  Such  a  sight  is  a  start- 
ling shock  to  that  unconscious  habitual  materialism  with  which 
we  are  apt  familiarly  to  regard  those  we  love :  for,  in  thus 
missing  the  mind,  the  heart,  the  affection  that  sprang  to  ours, 
we  are  suddenly  made  aware  that  it  was  the  something  within 
the  form,  and  not  the  form  itself,  that  was  so  dear  to  us.  The 
form  itself  is  still,  perhaps,  little  altered  ;  but  that  lip  which 
smiles  no  welcome,  that  eye  which  wanders  over  us  as  strang- 
ers, that  ear  which  distinguishes  no  more  our  voices — i\\e  friend 
we  sought  is  not  there  !  Even  our  own  love  is  chilled  back, 
grows  a  kind  of  vague,  superstitious  terror.  Yes,  it  was  not 
the  matter  still  present  to  us,  which  had  conciliated  all  those 
subtle  nameless  .sentiments  which  are  classed  and  fused  in  the 
word  "  affection  " — it  was  the  airy,  intangible,  electric  something, 
the  absence  of  which  now  appals  us. 

I  stood  speechless  ;  my  father  crept  on,  and  took  the  hand 
that  returned  no  pressure  ;  the  child  only  did  not  seem  to  share 
our  emotions,  but,  clambering  on  the  bed,  laid  her  cheek  on 
the  breast,  and  was  still. 

"  Pisistratus,"  whispered  my  father  at  last,  and  I  stole  near, 
hushing  my  breath  ;  "  Pisistratus,  if  your  mother  were  here  !  " 

"  I  nodded  ;  the  same  thought  had  struck  us  both.     His 


THE   CAXTONS.  fj^ 

deep  wisdom,  my  active  youth,  both  felt  their  nothingness,  then 
and  there.  In  the  sick  chamber,  both  turned  helplessly  to 
miss  the  woman. 

So  I  stole  out,  descended  the  stairs,  and  stood  in  the  open 
air  in  a  sort  of  stunned  amaze.  Then  the  tramp  of  feet,  and 
the  roll  of  wheels,  and  the  great  London  roar,  revived  me. 
That  contagion  of  practical  life  which  lulls  the  heart  and  stim- 
ulates the  brain — what  an  intellectual  mystery  there  is  in  its 
common  atmosphere  !  In  another  moment  I  had  singled  out, 
like  an  inspiration,  from  a  long  file  of  those  ministrants  of  our 
Trivia,  the  cab  of  the  lightest  shape  and  with  the  strongest 
horse,  and  was  on  my  way,  not  to  my  mother's,  but  to  Dr. 
M H ,  Manchester  Square,  whom  I  knew  as  the  medi- 
cal adviser  to  the  Trevanions.  Fortunately,  that  kind  and 
able  physician  was  at  home,  and  he  promised  to  be  with  the 
sufferer  before  I  myself  could  join  him.  I  then  drove  to  Rus- 
sell Street,  and  broke  to  my  mother,  as  cautiously  as  I  could, 
the  intelligence  with  which  I  was  charged. 

When  we  arrived  at  The  Lamb,  we  found  the  doctor  already 
writing  his  prescription  and  injunctions :  the  activity  of  the 
treatment  announced  the  danger.  I  flew  for  the  surgeon  who 
had  been  before  called  in.  Happy  those  who  are  strange  to 
that  indescribable,  silent  bustle  which  the  sick-room  at  times 
presents  :  that  conflict  which  seems  almost  hand  to  hand  be- 
tween life  and  death — when  all  the  poor,  unresisting,  uncon- 
scious frame  is  given  up  to  the  war  against  its  terrible  enemy  ; 
the  dark  blood  flowing — flowing  ;  the  hand  on  the  pulse,  the 
hushed  suspense,  every  look  on  the  physician's  bended  brow  ; 
then  the  sinaplasms  to  the  feet  and  the  ice  to  the  head  ;  and 
now  and  then  through  the  lull  or  the  low  whispers,  the  inco- 
herent voice  of  the  sufferer,  babbling,  perhaps,  of  green  fields 
and  fairyland,  while  your  hearts  are  breaking  !  Then,  at 
length,  the  sleep — in  that  sleep,  perhaps,  the  crisis — the 
breathless  watch,  the  slow  waking,  the  first  sane  words — the 
old  smile  again,  only  fainter — your  gushing  tears,  your  low, 
"  Thank  God  !     Thank  God  !  " 

Picture  all  this  ;  it  is  past  :  Roland  has  spoken — his  sense 
has  returned — my  mother  is  leaning  over  him — his  child's 
small  hands  are  clasped  round  his  neck — the  surgeon,  who 
has  been  there  six  hours,  has  taken  up  his  hat,  and  smiles  gayly 
as  he  nods  farewell — and  my  father  is  leaning  against  the  wall, 
his  face  covered  with  his  hands. 


176  THE   CAXTONS. 


CHAPTER  II. 

All  this  had  been  so  sudden  that,  to  use  the  trite  phrase — 
for  no  other  is  so  expressive — it  was  like  a  dream.  I  felt  an 
absolute,  an  imperious  want  of  solitude,  of  the  open  air.  The 
swell  of  gratitude  atmost  stifled  me — the  room  did  not  seem 
large  enough  for  my  big  heart.  In  early  youth,  if  we  find  it 
difficult  to  control  our  feelings,  so  we  find  it  difficult  to  vent 
them  in  the  presence  of  others.  On  the  spring  side  of  twenty, 
if  anything  affects  us,  we  rush  to  lock  ourselves  up  in  our 
room,  or  get  away  into  the  streets  or  the  fields  ;  in  our  earlier 
years  we  are  still  the  savages  of  Nature,  and  we  do  as  the  poor 
brute  does — the  wounded  stag  leaves  the  herd,  and,  if  there  is 
anything  on  a  dog's  faithful  heart,  he  slinks  away  into  a 
corner. 

Accordingly,  I  stole  out  of  the  hotel,  and  wandered  through 
the  streets,  which  were  quite  deserted.  It  was  about  the  first 
hour  of  dawn,  the  most  comfortless  hour  there  is,  especially  in 
London  !  But  I  only  felt  freshness  in  the  raw  air,  and  sooth- 
ing in  the  desolate  stillness.  The  love  my  uncle  inspired  was 
very  remarkable  in  its  nature  :  it  was  not  like  that  quiet  affec- 
tion with  which  those  advanced  in  life  must  usually  content 
themselves,  but  connected  with  the  more  vivid  interest  that 
youth  awakens.  There  was  in  him  still  so  much  of  vivacity 
and  fire,  in  his  errors  and  crotchets  so  much  of  the  self-delu- 
sion of  youth,  that  one  could  scarce  fancy  him  other  than 
young.  Those  Quixotic,  exaggerated  notions  of  honor,  that 
romance  of  sentiment,  which  no  hardship,  care,  grief,  disap- 
pointment, could  wear  away  (singular  in  a  period  when,  at 
two-and-twenty,  young  men  declare  themselves  blas/s!)  seemed 
to  leave  him  all  the  charm  of  boyhood.  A  season  in  London 
had  made  me  more  a  man  of  the  world,  older  in  heart  than  he 
was.  Then,  the  sorrow  that  gnawed  him  with  such  silent  stern- 
ness. No,  Captain  Roland  was  one  of  those  men  who  seize 
hold  of  your  thoughts,  who  mix  themselves  up  with  your  lives. 
The  idea  that  Roland  should  die — die  with  the  load  at  his 
heart  unlightened — was  one  that  seemed  to  take  a  spring  out 
of  the  wheels  of  nature,  an  object  out  of  the  aims  of  life — of 
my  life  at  least.  For  I  had  made  it  one  of  the  ends  of  my 
existence  to  bring  back  the  son  to  the  father,  and  restore  the 
smile  that  must  have  been  gay  once,  to  the  downward  curve  of 
that  iron  lip.  But  Roland  was  now  out  of  danger — and  yet, 
like  one.  who  has  escaped  shipwreck,  I  trembled  to  look  back 


tttfi  Caxtons.  1^7 

on  the  danger  past  ;  the  voice  of  the  devouring  deep  still 
boomed  in  my  ears.  While  rapt  in  my  reveries,  I  stopped 
mechanically  to  hear  a  clock  strike — four  ;  and,  looking  round, 
I  perceived  that  I  had  wandered  from  the  heart  of  the  city, 
and  was  in  one  of  the  streets  that  lead  out  of  the  Strand. 
Immediately  before  me,  on  the  doorsteps  of  a  large  shop 
whose  closed  shutters  wore  as  obstinate  a  stillness  as  if  they 
had  guarded  the  secrets  of  seventeen  centuries  in  a  street  in 
Pompeii,  reclined  a  form  fast  asleep  ;  the  arm  propped  on  the 
hard  stone  supporting  the  head,  and  the  limbs  uneasily  strewn 
over  the  stairs.  The  dress  of  the  slumberer  was  travel-stained, 
tattered,  yet  with  the  remains  of  a  certain  pretence  :  an  air  of 
faded,  shabby,  penniless  gentility  made  poverty  more  painful, 
because  it  seemed  to  indicate  unfitness  to  grapple  with  it. 
The  face  of  this  person  was  hollow  and  pale,  but  its  expres- 
sion, even  in  sleep,  was  fierce  and  hard.  I  drew  near  and 
nearer  ;  I  recognized  the  countenance,  the  regular  features, 
the  raven  hair,  even  a  peculiar  gracefulness  of  posture  :  the 
young  man  whom  I  had  met  at  the  inn  by  the  wayside,  and 
who  had  left  me  alone  with  the  Savoyai'd  and  his  mice  in  the 
churchyard,  was  before  me.  I  remained  behind  the  shadow 
of  one  of  the  columns  of  the  porch,  leaning  against  the  area 
rails,  and  irresolute  whether  or  not  so  slight  an  acquaintance 
justified  me  in  waking  the  sleeper,  when  a  policeman,  suddenly 
emerging  from  an  angle  in  the  street,  terminated  my  delibera- 
tions with  the  decision  of  his  practical  profession  ;  for  he  laid 
hold  of  the  young  man's  arm  and  shook  it  roughly  :  "  You 
must  not  lie  here  ;  get  up  and  go  home  !  "  The  sleeper  woke 
with  a  quick  start,  rubbed  his  eyes,  looked  round,  and  fixed 
them  upon  the  policeman  so  haughtily,  that  that  discriminat- 
ing functionary  probably  thought  that  it  was  not  from  sheer 
necessity  that  so  improper  a  couch  had  been  selected,  and  with 
an  air  of  greater  respect  he  said  :  "  You  have  been  drinking, 
young  man — can  you  find  your  way  home  ?" 

*'  Yes,"  said  the  youth,  resettling  himself,  "  you  see  I  have 
found  it !  " 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry  !  "  muttered  the  policeman,  "  if  he 
ben't  going  to  sleep  again  !  Come,  come,  walk  on,  or  I  must 
walk  you  off." 

My  old  acquaintance  turned  round.  "Policeman,"  said  he,with 
a  strange  sort  of  smile,  "what  do  you  think  this  lodging  is  worth  ? 
I  don't  say  for  the  night,  for  you  see  that  is  over,  but  for  the 
next  two  hours  ?  The  lodging  is  primitive,  but  it  suits  me  ;  I 
should  think  a  shilling  would  be  a  fair  price  for  it — eh  ?" 


lyS  THE   CAXTONS. 

"You  love  your  joke,  sir,"  said  the  policeman,  with  a  brow 
much  relaxed,  and  opening  his  hand  mechanically. 

"  Say  a  shilling,  then — it  is  a  bargain  !  I  hire  it  of  you 
upon  credit.     Good-night,  and  call  me  at  six  o'clock." 

With  that  the  young  man  settled  himself  so  resolutely,  and 
the  policeman's  face  exhibited  such  bewilderment,  that  I  burst 
out  laughing,  and  came  from  my  hiding-place. 

The  policeman  looked  at  me.     "  Do  you  know  this — this — " 

"  This  gentleman  ? "  said  I  gravely.  "  Yes,  you  may  leave 
him  to  me  ";  and  I  slipped  the  price  of  the  lodging  into  the 
policeman's  hand.  He  looked  at  the  shilling — he  looked  at 
me — he  looked  up  the  street  and  down  the  street — shook  his 
head,  and  walked  off.  1  then  approached  the  youth,  touched 
him,  and  said  :  "  Can  you  remember  me,  sir  ;  and  what  have 
you  done  with  Mr.  Peacock  ? " 

Stranger  (after  a  pause). — I  remember  you  ;  your  name 
is  Caxton." 

PisiSTRATUS. — And  yours  ? 

Stranger. — Poor-devil,  if  you  ask  my  pockets — pockets, 
which  are  the  symbols  of  man  ;  Dare-devil,  if  you  ask  my 
heart.  (Surveying  me  from  head  to  foot) — The  world  seems 
to  have  smiled  on  you,  Mr.  Caxton  !  Are  you  not  ashamed 
to  speak  to  a  wretch  lying  on  the  stones  ? — but,  to  be  sure,  no 
one  sees  you. 

PisiSTRATUS  (sententiously). — Had  I  lived  in  the  last 
century,  1  might  have  found  Samuel  Johnson  lying  on  the 
stones. 

Stranger  (rising). — You  have  spoilt  my  sleep  ;  you  had 
a  right,  since  you  paid  for  the  lodging.  Let  me  walk  with 
you  a  few  paces ;  you  need  not  fear — I  do  not  pick  pockets — • 
yet ! 

PisiSTRATUS. — You  say  the  world  has  smiled  on  me  ;  I 
fear  it  has  frowned  on  you.  1  don't  say  "  courage,"  for  you 
seem  to  have  enough  of  that ;  but  I  say  ^'■patience"  which  is 
the  rarer  quality  of  the  two. 

Stranger. — Hem  !  (again  looking  at  me  keenly) — Why 
is  it  that  you  stop  to  speak  to  me — one  of  whom  you  know 
nothing,  or  worse  than  nothing  ? 

PisiSTRATUS. — Because  I  have  often  thought  of  you  ;  be- 
cause you  interest  me  ;  because — pardon  me — I  would  help 
you  if  I  can — that  is  if  you  want  help. 

Stranger. — Want  ! — I  am  one  want !  I  want  sleep  ;  I 
want  food  ;  I  want  the  patience  you  recommend — patience  to 
Starve  and  rot.     I  have  travelled  from  Paris  to  Boulogne  on 


THE  CAXTONS.  tf^ 

foot,  with  twelve  sous  in  my  pocket.  Out  of  those  twelve  sous 
in  my  pocket  I  saved  four ;  with  the  four  I  went  to  a  billiard- 
room  at  Boulogne  ;  I  won  just  enough  to  pay  my  passage  and 
buy  three  rolls.  You  see  I  only  require  capital  in  order  to 
make  a  fortune.  If  with  four  sous  I  can  win  ten  francs  in  a 
night,  what  could  I  win  with  a  capital  of  four  sovereigns,  and 
in  the  course  of  a  year  ? — that  is  an  application  of  the  Rule  of 
Three,  which  my  head  aches  too  much  to  calculate  just  at 
present.  Well,  those  three  rolls  have  lasted  me  three  days  ; 
the  last  crumb  went  for  supper  last  night.  Therefore,  take 
care  how  you  offer  me  money  (for  that  is  what  men  mean  by 
help).  You  see  I  have  no  option  but  to  take  it.  But  I  warn 
you,  don't  expect  gratitude  !     I  have  none  in  me  ! 

PisiSTRATUS. — You  are  not  so  bad  as  you  paint  yourself. 
I  would  do  something  more  for  you,  if  I  can,  than  lend  you 
the  little  I  have  to  offer.     Will  you  be  frank  with  me  ? 

Stranger, — That  depends — I  have  been  frank  enough 
hitherto,  I  think. 

PisiSTRATUS. — True  ;  so  I  proceed  without  scruple.  Don't 
tell  me  your  name  or  your  condition,  if  you  object  to  such  con- 
fidence ;  but  tell  me  if  you  have  relations  to  whom  you  can 
apply?  You  shake  your  head  ?  well,  then,  are  you  willing  to 
work  for  yourself  ?  Or  is  it  only  at  the  billiard-table  (pardon 
me)  that  you  can  try  to  make  four  sous  produce  ten  francs  ? 

Stranger  (musing). — I  understand  you.  I  have  never 
worked  yet — I  abhor  work.  But  I  have  no  objection  to  try  if 
it  is  in  me. 

PisiSTRATUS. — It  is  in  you  :  a  man  who  can  walk  from 
Paris  to  Boulogne  with  twelve  sous  in  his  pocket,  and  save  four 
for  a  purpose  ;  who  can  stake  those  four  on  the  cool  confi- 
dence in  his  own  skill,  even  at  billiards;  who  can  subsist 
for  three  days  on  three  rolls,  and  who,  on  the  fourth  day,  can 
wake  from  the  stones  of  a  capital  with  an  eye  and  a  spirit  as 
proud  as  yours,  has  in  him  all  the  requisites  to  subdue  fortune. 

Stranger. — Do  you  work  ? — you  ? 

PisiSTRATUS. — Yes — and  hard. 

Stranger. — I  am  ready  to  work,  then. 

PisiSTRATUS. — Good.     Novv,  what  can  you  do  ? 

Stranger  (with  his  odd  smile). — Many  things  usefuL. 
I  can  split  a  bullet  on  a  penknife  ;  I  know  the  secret  tierce  of 
Coulon,  the  fencing-master  ;  I  can  speak  two  languages  (be- 
sides English)  like  a  native,  even  to  their  slang  :  I  know  every 
game  in  the  cards :  I  can  act  comedy,  tragedy,  farce  :  I  can 
drink  down  Bacchus  himself.     I  can  make  any  woman  I  please 


l8o  THE  CAXTONS. 

in  love  with  me — that  is,  any  woman  good  for  nothing.  Can 
I  earn  a  handsome  liveliiujod  out  of  all  this — wear  kid  gloves 
and  set  up  a  cabriolet  ?     You  see  my  wishes  are  modest ! 

PisiSTRATUS. — You  speak  two  languages,  you  say,  like  a 
native — French,  I  suppose,  is  one  of  them  ? 

Stranger. — Yes. 

PisiSTRATUS. — Will  you  teach  it  ? 

Stranger  (haughtily). — No.  Je  siiis  gentilhomme^  which 
means  more  or  less  than  a  gentleman.  Gentilhomme  means 
well  born,  because  free-born — teachers  are  slaves  ! 

PisiSTRATUS  (unconsciously  imitating  Mr.  Trevanion ). — 
Stuff ! 

Stranger  (looks  angry,  and  then  laughs). — Very  true  ; 
stilts  don't  suit  shoes  like  these  !  But  I  cannot  teach  :  Heaven 
help  those  /  should  teach  !    Anything  else  ? 

PisiSTRATUS. — Anything  else  ! — you  leave  me  a  wide  mar- 
gin. You  know  French  thoroughly — to  write  as  well  as  speak? 
That  is  much.  Give  me  some  address  where  I  can  find  you — 
or  will  you  call  on  me  ? 

Stranger. — No !  Any  evening  at  dusk  I  will  meet  you, 
I  have  no  address  to  give  ;  and  I  cannot  show  these  rags  at 
another  man's  door. 

PisiSTRATUS. — At  nine  in  the  evening,  then,  and  here  in 
the  Strand,  on  Thursday  next,  I  may  then  have  found  some- 
thing that  will  suit  you.  Meanwhile  (slides  his  purse  into  the 
Stranger's  hand.     N.  B. — Purse  not  very  full). 

Stranger,  with  the  air  of  one  conferring  a  favor,  pockets  the 
purse  ;  and  there  is  something  so  striking  in  the  very  absence 
of  all  emotion  at  so  accidental  a  rescue  from  starvation,  that 
Pisistratus  exclaims  : 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  have  taken  this  fancy  to  you, 
Mr.  Daredevil,  if  that  be  the  name  that  pleases  you  best.  The 
wood  you  are  made  of  seems  cross-grained,  and  full  of  knots  ; 
and  yet,  in  the  hands  of  a  skilful  carver,  I  think  it  would  be 
"worth  much. 

Stranger  (startled). — Do  you  ?  Do  you  ?  None,  I  be- 
lieve, ever  thought  that  before.  But  the  same  wood,  I  suppose, 
that  makes  the  gibbet,  could  make  the  mast  of  a  man-of-war, 
I  tell  you,  however,  why  you  have  taken  this  fancy  to  me — the 
strong  sympathize  with  the  strong.  You,  too,  could  subdue 
fortune  ! 

PisiSTRATUS, — Stop;  if  so — if  there  is  congeniality  between 
us,  then  liking  should  be  reciprocal.  Come,  say  that  ;  for  half 
my  chance  of  helping  you  is  in  my  power  to  touch  your  heart. 


THE   CAXTONS.  l8l 

Stranger  (evidently  softened). — If  I  were  as  great  a 
rogue  as  I  ought  to  be,  my  answer  would  be  easy  enough.  As 
it  is,  I  delay  it.     Adieu. — On  Thursday. 

Stranger  vanishes  in  the  labyrinth  of  alleys  round  Leicester 
Square. 

CHAPTER  III. 

On  my  return  to  The  Lamb,  I  found  that  my  uncle  was  in  a 
soft  sleep  ;  and  after  a  morning  visit  from  the  surgeon,  and  his 
assurance  that  the  fever  was  fast  subsiding,  and  all  cause  for 
alarm  was  gone,  I  thought  it  necessary  to  go  back  to  Tre- 
vanion's  house,  and  explain  the  reason  for  my  night's  absence. 
But  the  family  had  not  returned  from  the  country.  Trevanion 
himself  came  up  for  a  few  hours  in  the  afternoon,  and  seemed 
to  feel  much  for  my  poor  uncle's  illness.  Though,  as  usual, 
very  busy,  he  accompanied  me  to  The  Lamb,  to  see  my  father, 
and  cheer  him  up.  Roland  still  continued  to  mend,  as  the 
surgeon  phrased  it ;  and  as  we  went  back  to  St.  James's 
Square,  Trevanion  had  the  consideration  to  release  me  from 
my  oar  in  his  galley  for  the  next  few  days.  My  mind,  relieved 
from  my  anxiety  for  Roland,  now  turned  to  my  new  friend. 
It  had  not  been  without  an  object  that  I  had  questioned  the 
young  man  as  to  his  knowledge  of  French.  Trevanion  had  a 
large  correspondence  in  foreign  countries  which  was  carried 
on  in  that  language,  and  here  I  could  be  but  of  little  help  to 
him.  He  himself,  though  he  spoke  and  wrote  French  with 
fluency  and  grammatical  correctness,  wanted  that  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  most  delicate  and  diplomatic  of  all  languages 
to  satisfy  his  classical  purism.  For  Trevanion  was  a  terrible 
word-weigher.  His  taste  was  the  plague  of  my  life  and  his 
own.  His  prepared  speeches  (or  rather  perorations)  were  the 
most  finished  pieces  of  cold  diction  that  could  be  conceived 
under  the  marble  portico  of  the  Stoics — so  filed  and  turned, 
trimmed  and  tamed,  that  they  never  admitted  a  sentence  that 
could  warm  the  heart,  or  one  that  could  offend  the  ear.  He 
had  so  great  a  horror  of  a  vulgarism  that,  like  Canning,  he 
would  have  made  a  periphrasis  of  a  couple  of  lines  to  avoid 
using  the  word  "cat."  It  was  only  in  extempore  speaking 
that  a  ray  of  his  real  genius  could  indiscreetly  betray  itself. 
One  may  judge  what  labor  such  a  super-refinement  of  taste 
would  inflict  upon  a  man  writing  in  a  language  not  his  own  to 
some  distinguished  statesman,  or  some  literary  institution, 
knowing  that  language  just  well  enough  to  recognize  all  the 
native  elegances  he  failed  to  attain.     Trevanion,  at  that  very 


iSa  THE    CAXTONS. 

moment,  was  employed  upon  a  statistical  document,  intended 
as  a  communication  to  a  society  at  Copenhagen,  of  which  he 
was  an  honorary  member.  It  had  been  for  three  weeks  the 
torment  of  the  whole  house,  especially  of  poor  Fanny  (whose 
French  was  the  best  at  our  joint  disposal).  But  Trevanion 
had  found  her  phraseology  too  mincing,  too  effeminate,  too 
much  that  of  the  boudoir.  Here,  then,  was  an  opportunity  to 
introduce  my  new  friend,  and  test  the  capacities  that  I  fancied 
he  possessed.  I  therefore,  though  with  some  hesitation,  led 
the  subject  to  "  Remarks  on  the  Mineral  Treasures  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland"  (such  was  the  title  of  the  work  intended 
to  enlighten  the  savans  of  Denmark)  ;  and,  by  certain  ingenious 
circumlocutions,  know  to  all  able  applicants,  I  introduced  my 
acquaintance  with  a  young  gentleman  who  possessed  the  most 
familiar  and  intimate  knowledge  of  French,  and  who  might  be 
of  use  in  revising  the  manuscript.  I  knew  enough  of  Tre- 
vanion to  feel  that  I  could  not  revealthe  circumstances  under 
which  I  had  formed  that  acquaintance,  for  he  was  much  too 
practical  a  man  not  to  have  been  frightened  out  of  his  wits  at 
the  idea  of  submitting  so  classical  a  performance  to  so  dis- 
reputable a  scapegrace.  As  it  was,  however,  Trevanion,  whose 
mind  at  that  moment  was  full  of  a  thousand  other  things, 
caught  at  my  suggestion,  with  very  little  cross-questioning  on 
the  subject,  and  before  he  left  London  consigned  the  manu- 
script to  my  charge. 

"  My  friend  is  poor,"  said  I,  timidly. 

"  Oh  !  as  to  that,"  cried  Trevanion  hastily,  "  if  it  be  a  mat- 
ter of  charity,  I  put  my  purse  in  your  hands  ;  but  don't  put 
my  manuscript  in  his  !  If  it  be  a  matter  of  business,  it  is 
another  affair  ;  and  I  must  judge  of  his  work  before  I  can  say 
how  much  it  is  worth — perhaps  nothing  !  " 

So  ungracious  was  this  excellent  man  in  his  very  virtues  ! 

"  Nay,"  said  I,  "  it  is  a  matter  of  business,  and  so  we  will 
consider  it." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Trevanion,  concluding  the  matter,  and 
buttoning  his  pockets,  "  if  I  dislike  his  work,  nothing ;  if  I  like 
it,  twenty  guineas.  Where  are  the  evening  papers  ?  "  and  in 
another  moment  the  member  of  Parliament  had  forgotten  the 
statist,  and  was  pishing  and  tutting  over  the  Globe  or  the  Sun. 

On  Thursday,  my  uncle  was  well  enough  to  be  moved  into 
our  house  ;  and  on  the  same  evening,  I  went  forth  to  keep  my 
appointment  with  the  stranger.  The  clock  struck  nine  as  we 
met.  The  palm  of  punctuality  might  be  divided  between  us. 
He  had  profited  by  the  interval,  since  our  last  meeting,  to 


THE    CAXTONS.  183 

repair  the  more  obvious  deficiencies  of  his  wardrobe  ;  and 
though  there  was  something  still  wild,  dissolute,  outlandish, 
about  his  whole  appearance,  yet  in  the  elastic  energy  of  his 
step,  and  the  resolute  assurance  of  his  bearing,  there  was  that 
which  Nature  gives  to  her  own  aristocracy  ;  for,  as  far  as  my 
observation  goes,  what  has  been  called  the  "  grand  air  "  (and 
which  is  wholly  distinct  from  the  polish  of  manner,  or  the  urbane 
grace  of  high  breeding)  is  always  accompanied,  and  perhaps 
produced,  by  two  qualities — courage,  and  the  desire  of  com- 
mand. It  is  more  common  to  a  half-savage  nature  than  to  one 
wholly  civilized.  The  Arab  has  it,  so  has  the  American 
Indian  :  and  I  suspect  that  it  was  more  frequent  among  the 
knights  and  barons  of  the  Middle  Ages  than  it  is  among  the 
polished  gentlemen  of  the  modern  drawing-room. 

We  shook  hands,  and  walked  on  a  few  moments  in  silence  ; 
at  length  thus  commenced  the  Stranger  : 

"  You  have  found  it  more  difficult,  I  fear,  than  you  imag- 
ined, to  make  the  empty  sack  stand  upright.  Considering 
that  at  least  one-third  of  those  born  to  work  cannot  find  it, 
why  should  I  ?  " 

PisiSTRATUs. — I  am  hard-hearted  enough  to  believe  that 
work  never  fails  to  those  who  seek  it  in  good  earnest.  It  was 
said  of  some  man,  famous  for  keeping  his  word,  that  "  if  he 
had  promised  you  an  acorn,  and  all  the  oaks  in  England  failed 
to  produce  one,  he  would  have  sent  to  Norway  for  an  acorn." 
If  I  wanted  work,  and  there  was  none  to  be  had  in  the  Old 
World,  I  would  find  my  way  to  the  New.  But,  to  the  point : 
I  have  found  something  for  you,  which  I  do  not  think  your 
taste  will  oppose,  and  which  may  open  to  you  the  means  of  an 
honorable  independence.  But  I  cannot  well  explain  it  in  the 
streets  :  where  shall  we  go  ? 

Stranger  (after  some  hesitation). — I  have  a  lodging 
near  here,  which  I  need  not  blush  to  take  you  to — I  mean  that 
it  is  not  among  rogues  and  castaways. 

Pisistratus  (much  pleased,  and  taking  the  stranger's 
arm). — Come  then. 

Pisistratus  and  the  stranger  pass  over  Waterloo  Bridge,  and 
pause  before  a  small  house  of  respectable  appearance.  Stran- 
ger admits  them  both  with  a  latch-key,  leads  the  way  to  the 
third  story,  strikes  a  light,  and  does  the  honors  to  a  small  cham- 
ber, clean  and  orderly.  Pisistratus  explains  the  task  to  be 
done,  and  opens  the  manuscript.  The  stranger  draws  his  chair 
deliberately  towards  the  light,  and  runs  his  eye  rapidly  over 
the  pages.     Pisistratus  trembles  to  see  him  pause  before  a 


184  THE     CAXTONS. 

long  array  of  figures  and  calculations.  Certainly  it  does  not 
look  inviting  ;  but,  pshaw  !  it  is  scarcely  a  part  of  the  task, 
which  limits  itself  to  the  mere  correction  of  words. 

Stranger  (briefly). — There  must  be  a  mistake  here — 
stay  ! — I  see —  (He  turns  back  a  few  pages,  and  corrects 
with  rapid  precision  an  error  in  a  somewhat  complicated  and 
abstruse  calculation.) 

PisiSTRATUS  (surprised). — You  seem  a  notable  arithmeti- 
cian. 

Stranger. — Did  I  not  tell  you  that  I  was  skilful  in  all 
games  of  mingled  skill  and  chance  ?  It  requires  an  arithmeti- 
cal head  for  that  :  a  first-rate  card-player  is  a  financier  spoilt. 
I  am  certain  that  you  never  could  find  a  man  fortunate  on  the 
turf,  or  at  the  gaming-table,  who  had  not  an  excellent  head 
for  figures.  Well,  this  P'rench  is  good  enough  apparently  ; 
there  are  but  a  few  idioms,  here  and  there,  that,  strictly  speak- 
ing, are  more  English  than  French.  But  the  whole  is  a  work 
scarce  worth  paying  for  ! 

PisiSTRATUS. — The  work  of  the  head  fetches  a  price  not 
proportioned  to  the  quantity,  but  the  quality.  When  shall  I 
call  for  this  ? 

Stranger. — To-morrow.  (And  he  puts  the  manuscript 
away  in  a  drawer.) 

We  then  conversed  on  various  matters  for  nearly  an  hour  ; 
and  my  impression  of  this  young  man's  natural  ability  was 
confirmed  and  heightened.  But  it  was  an  ability  as  wrong  and 
perverse  in  its  directions  or  instincts  as  a  French  novelist's. 
He  seemed  to  have,  to  a  high  degree,  the  harder  portion  of 
the  reasoning  faculty,  but  to  be  almost  wholly  without  that  arch 
beautifier  of  character,  that  sweet  purifier  of  mere  intellect — • 
th^  imagination.  For,  though  we  are  too  much  taught  to  be 
on  our  guard  against  imagination,  I  hold  it,  with  Captain 
Roland,  to  be  the  divinest  kind  of  reason  we  possess,  and  the 
one  that  leads  us  the  least  astray.  In  youth,  indeed,  it 
occasions  errors,  but  they  are  not  of  a  sordid  or  debasing 
nature.  Newton  says  that  one  final  effect  of  the  comets  is  to 
recruit  the  seas  and  the  planets  by  a  condensation  of  the  vapors 
and  exhalations  therein  ;  and  so  even  the  erratic  flashes  of  an 
imagination  really  healthful  and  vigorous  deepen  our  knowl- 
edge and  brighten  our  lights  ;  they  recruit  our  seas  and  our 
stars.  Of  such  flashes  my  new  friend  was  as  innocent  as  the 
sternest  matter-of-fact  person  could  desire.  Fancies  he  had 
in  profusion,  and  very  bad  ones  ;  but  of  imagination  not  a 
scintilla  !     His  mind  was  one  of  those  which  live  in  a  prison 


THE    CAXTONS.  1 85 

of  logic,  and  cannot,  or  will  not,  see  beyond  the  bars  :  such  a 
nature  is  at  once  positive  and  sceptical.  This  boy  had  thought 
proper  to  decide  at  once  on  the  numberless  complexities  of 
the  social  world  from  his  own  harsh  experience.  With  him  the 
whole  system  was  a  war  and  a  cheat.  If  the  universe  were 
entirely  composed  of  knaves,  he  would  be  sure  to  have  made 
his  way.  Now  this  bias  of  mind,  alike  shrewd  and  unamiable, 
might  be  safe  enough  if  accompanied  by  a  lethargic  temper  ; 
but  it  threatened  to  become  terrible  and  dangerous  in  one  who, 
in  default  of  imagination,  possessed  abundance  of  passion  : 
and  this  was  the  case  with  the  young  outcast.  Passion,  in  him, 
comprehended  many  of  the  worst  emotions  which  militate 
against  human  happiness.  You  could  not  contradict  him,  but 
you  raised  quick  cholei  ;  you  could  not  speak  of  wealth,  but 
the  cheek  palec.  with  gnawing  envy.  The  astonishing  natural 
advantages  of  this  poor  boy — his  beauty,  his  readiness,  the  dar- 
ing spirit  that  breathed  around  him  like  a  fiery  atmosphere- 
had  raised  his  constitutional  self-confidence  into  an  arrogance 
that  turned  his  very  claims  to  admiration  into  prejudices  against 
him.  Irascible,  envious,  arrogant — bad  enough,  but  not  the 
worst,  for  these  salient  angles  were  all  varnished  over  with  a 
cold,  repellent  cynicism — his  passions  vented  themselves  in 
sneers.  There  seemed  in  him  no  moral  susceptibility  ;  and 
what  was  more  remarkable  in  a  proud  nature,  little  or  nothing 
of  the  true  point  of  honor.  He  had,  to  a  morbid  excess,  that 
desire  to  rise  which  is  vulgarly  called  ambition,  but  no  appa- 
rent wish  for  fame,  or  esteem,  or  the  love  of  his  species  ;  only 
the  hard  wish  to  succeed,  not  shine,  not  serve — succeed,  that 
he  might  have  the  right  to  despise  a  world  which  galled  his 
self-conceit,  and  enjoy  the  pleasures  which  the  redundant  nerv- 
ous life  in  him  seemed  to  crave.  Such  were  the  more  patent 
attributes  of  a  character  that,  ominous  as  it  was,  yet  interested 
me,  and  yet  appeared  to  me  to  be  redeemable — nay,  to  have  in  it 
the  rude  elements  of  a  certain  greatness.  Ought  we  not  to 
make  something  great  out  of  a  youth  under  twenty,  who  has, 
in  the  highest  degree,  quickness  to  conceive  and  courage  to 
execute  ?  On  the  other  hand,  all  faculties  that  can  make  great- 
ness contain  those  that  can  attain  goodness.  In  the  savage 
Scandinavian,  or  the  ruthless  Frank,  lay  the  germs  of  a  Sidney 
or  a  Bayard.  What  would  the  best  of  us  be,  if  he  were  sud- 
denly placed  at  war  with  the  whole  world  ?  And  this  fierce 
spirit  7vasa.t  war  with  the  whole  world — a  war  self-sought,  per- 
haps, but  it  was  war  not  the  less.  You  must  surround  the  sav- 
age with  peace,  if  you  want  the  virtues  of  peace. 


l86  THE    CAXTONS. 

I  cannot  say  that  it  was  in  a  single  interview  and  conference 
that  I  came  to  these  convictions ;  but  I  am  rather  summing  up 
the  impressions  which  I  received  as  I  saw  more  of  this  person, 
whose  destiny  I  presumed  to  take  under  my  charge. 

In  going  away,  I  said  :  "  But,  at  all  events,  you  have  a  name 
in  your  lodgings  :  whom  am  I  to  ask  for  when  I  call  to-mor- 
row ? " 

"  Oh,  you  may  know  my  name  now,"  said  he,  smiling  :  "  it  is 
Vivian — Francis  Vivian." 

CHAPTER  IV. 

I  REMEMBER  One  moming,  when  a  boy,  loitering  by  an  old 
wall,  to  watch  the  operations  of  a  garden  spider,  whose  wtb 
seemed  to  be  in  great  request.  When  I  first  stopped,  she  was 
engaged  very  quietly  with  a  fly  of  the  domestic  species,  whom 
she  managed  with  ease  and  dignity.  But  just  when  she  was 
most  interested  in  that  absorbing  employment,  came  a  couple 
of  May-flies,  and  then  a  gnat,  and  then  a  blue-bottle — all  at 
different  angles  of  the  web.  Never  was  a  poor  spider  so  dis- 
tracted by  her  good  fortune  I  She  evidently  did  not  know 
which  godsend  to  take  first.  The  aboriginal  victim  being 
released,  she  slid  half-way  towards  the  May-flies  ;  then  one  of 
her  eight  eyes  caught  sight  of  the  blue-bottle  !  and  she  shot 
off  in  that  direction — when  the  hum  of  the  gnat  again  diverted 
her  ;  and  in  the  middle  of  this  perplexity,  pounce  came  a  young 
wasp  in  a  violent  passion  !  Then  the  spider  evidently  lost  her 
presence  of  mind  ;  she  became  clean  demented  ;  and  after 
standing,  stupid  and  stock-still,  in  the  middle  of  her  meshes, 
for  a  minute  or  two,  she  ran  off  to  her  hole  as  fast  as  she  could 
run,  and  left  her  guests  to  shift  for  themselves.  I  confess 
that  I  am  somewhat  in  the  dilemma  of  the  attractive  and  ami- 
able insect  I  have  just  described.  I  got  on  well  enough  while 
I  had  only  my  domestic  fly  to  see  after.  But  now  that  there 
is  something  fluttering  at  every  end  of  my  net  (and  especially 
since  the  advent  of  that  passionate  young  wasp,  who  is  fuming 
and  buzzing  in  the  nearest  corner  !)  I  am  fairly  at  a  loss  which 
I  should  first  grapple  v/ith — and,  alas  !  unlike  the  spider,  I 
have  no  hole  where  I  can  hide  myself,  and  let  the  web  do  the 
weaver's  work.  But  I  will  imitate  the  spider  as  far  as  I  can  ; 
and  while  the  rest  hum  and  struggle  away  their  impatient, 
unnoticed  hour,  I  will  retreat  into  the  inner  labyrinth  of  my 
own  life. 

The  illness  of  my  uncle,  and  my  renewed  acquaintance  with 


THE    CAXTONS.  187 

Vivian,  had  naturally  sufficed  to  draw  my  thoughts  from  the 
rash  and  unpropitous  love  I  had  conceived  for  Fanny  Tre- 
vanion.  During  the  absence  of  the  family  from  London  (and 
they  stayed  some  time  longer  than  had  been  expected),  1  had 
leisure,  however,  to  recall  my  father's  touching  history,  and 
the  moral  it  had  so  obviously  preached  to  me  ;  and  I  formed 
so  many  good  resolutions,  that  it  was  with  an  untrembling 
hand  that  I  welcomed  Miss  Trevanion  at  last  to  London,  and 
with  a  firm  heart  that  I  avoided,  as  much  as  possible,  the  fatal 
charm  of  her  society.  The  slow  convalescence  of  my  uncle 
gave  me  a  just  excuse  to  discontinue  our  rides.  What  time 
Trevanion  spared  me,  it  was  natural  that  I  should  spend  with 
my  family.  I  went  to  no  balls  nor  parties.  I  even  absented 
myself  from  Trevanion's  periodical  dinners.  Miss  Trevanion 
at  first  rallied  me  on  my  seclusion,  with  her  usual  lively  malice. 
But  I  continued  worthily  to  complete  my  martyrdom.  I  took 
care  that  no  reproachful  look  at  the  gayety  that  wrung  my 
soul  should  betray  my  secret.  Then  Fanny  seemed  either  hurt 
or  disdainful,  and  avoided  altogether  entering  her  father's 
study  ;  all  at  once,  she  changed  her  tactics,  and  was  seized 
with  a  strange  desire  for  knowledge,  which  brought  her  into 
the  room  to  look  for  a  book,  or  ask  a  question,  ten  times  a 
day.  I  was  proof  to  all.  But,  to  speak  truth,  I  was  pro- 
foundly wretched.  Looking  back  now,  I  am  dismayed  at  the 
remembrance  of  my  own  sufferings  ;  my  health  became  seri- 
ously affected  ;  I  dreaded  alike  the  trial  of  the  day  and  the 
anguish  of  the  night.  My  only  distractions  were  in  my  visits 
to  Vivian,  and  my  escape  to  the  dear  circle  of  home.  And 
that  home  was  my  safeguard  and  preservative  in  that  crisis  of 
my  life  :  its  atmosphere  of  unpretending  honor  and  serene 
virtue  strengthened  all  my  resolutions  ;  it  braced  me  for  my 
struggles  against  the  strongest  passion  which  youth  admits, 
and  counteracted  the  evil  vapors  of  that  air  in  which  Vivian's 
envenomed  spirit  breathed  and  moved.  Without  the  influence 
of  such  a  home,  if  I  had  succeeded  in  the  conduct  that  probity 
enjoined  towards  those  in  whose  house  I  was  a  trusted  guest, 
I  do  not  think  1  could  have  resisted  the  contagion  of  that 
malign  and  morbid  bitterness  against  fate  and  the  world, 
which  love,  thwarted  by  fortune,  is  too  inclined  of  itself  to 
conceive,  and  in  the  expression  of  which  Vivian  was  not  with- 
out the  eloquence  that  belongs  to  earnestness.  Whether  in 
truth  or  falsehood.  But,  somehow  or  other,  I  never  left  the 
little  room  that  contained  the  grand  suffering  in  the  face  of 
the  veteran  soldier,  whose  lip,  often  quivering  with  anguish, 


l88  THE   CAXTONS, 

was  never  heard  to  murmur;  and  the  tranquil  wisdom  which 
had  succeeded  my  father's  early  trials  (trials  like  my  own), 
and  the  loving  smile  on  my  mother's  tender  face,  and  the 
innocent  childhood  of  Blanche  (by  which  name  the  Elf  had 
familiarized  herself  to  us),  whom  I  already  loved  as  a  sister — 
without  feeling  that  those  four  walls  contained  enough  to 
sweeten  the  world,  had  it  been  filled  to  its  capacious  brim  with 
gall  and  hyssop. 

Trevanion  had  been  more  than  satisfied  with  Vivian's  per- 
formance— he  had  been  struck  with  it.  For  though  the  cor- 
rections in  the  mere  phraseology  had  been  very  limited,  they 
went  beyond  verbal  amendments — they  suggested  such  words 
as  improved  the  thoughts  ;  and,  besides  that  notable  correction 
of  an  arithmetical  error,  which  Trevanion's  mind  was  formed 
to  over-appreciate,  one  or  two  brief  annotations  on  the  margin 
were  boldly  hazarded,  prompting  some  stronger  link  in  a 
chain  of  reasoning,  or  indicating  the  necessity  for  some  further 
evidence  in  the  assertion  of  a  statement.  And  all  this  from 
the  mere  natural  and  naked  logic  of  an  acute  mind,  unaided 
by  the  smallest  knowledge  of  the  subject  treated  of !  Trevan- 
ion threw  quite  enough  work  into  Vivian's  hands,  and  at  a 
remuneration  sufficiently  liberal  to  realize  my  promise  of  an 
independence.  And  more  than  once  he  asked  me  to  introduce 
to  him  my  friend.  But  this  I  continued  to  elude — heaven 
knows,  not  from  jealousy,  but  simply  because  I  feared  that 
Vivian's  manner  and  way  of  talk  would  singularly  displease 
one  who  detested  presumption,  and  understood  no  eccentrici- 
ties but  his  own. 

Still  Vivian,  whose  industry  was  of  a  strong  wing,  but  only 
for  short  flights,  had  not  enough  to  employ  more  than  a  few 
hours  of  his  day,  and  I  dreaded  lest  he  should,  from  very  idle- 
ness, fall  back  into  old  habits,  and  reseek  old  friendships. 
His  cynical  candor  allowed  that  both  were  sufficiently  disrep- 
utable to  justify  grave  apprehensions  of  such  a  result ;  accord- 
ingly, I  contrived  to  find  leisure  in  my  evenings  to  lessen  his 
ennui,  by  accompanying  him  in  rambles  through  the  gas-lit 
streets,  or  occasionally,  for  an  hour  or  so,  to  one  of  the 
theatres. 

Vivian's  first  care,  on  finding  himself  rich  enough,  had  been 
bestowed  on  his  person  ;  and  those  two  faculties  of  observa- 
tion and  imitation  which  minds  so  ready  always  eminently 
possess,  had  enabled  him  to  achieve  that  graceful  neatness 
of  costume  peculiar  to  the  English  gentleman.  For  the  first 
few  days  of  his  metamorphosis,  traces  indeed  of  a  constitu- 


THE    CAXTONS.  xSp 

tional  love  of  show,  or  vulgar  companionship,  were  noticeable  ; 
but  one  by  one  they  disappeared.  First  went  a  gaudy  neck- 
cloth, with  collars  turned  down  ;  then  a  pair  of  spurs  van- 
ished  ;  and  lastly,  a  diabolical  instrument  that  he  called  a 
cane,  but  which,  by  means  of  a  running  bullet,  could  serve  as 
a  bludgeon  at  one  end,  and  concealed  a  dagger  in  the  other, 
subsided  into  the  ordinary  walking-stick  adapted  to  our  peace- 
able metropolis.  A  similar  change,  though  in  a  less  degree, 
gradually  took  place  in  his  manner  and  his  conversation. 
He  grew  less  abrupt  in  the  one,  and  more  calm,  perhaps  more 
cheerful,  in  the  other.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  not  insensi- 
ble to  the  elevated  pleasure  of  providing  for  himself  by  praise- 
worthy exertion — of  feeling  for  the  first  time  that  his  intellect 
was  of  use  to  him,  creditably.  A  new  world, though  still  dim — 
seen  through  mist  and  fog — began  to  dawn  upon  him. 

Such  is  the  vanity  of  us  poor  mortals,  that  my  interest  in 
Vivian  was  probably  increased,  and  my  aversion  to  much  in 
liini  materially  softened,  by  observing  that  I  had  gained  a  sort 
of  ascendency  over  his  savage  nature.  When  we  had  first  met 
by  the  roadside,  and  afterwards  conversed  in  the  churchyard, 
the  ascendency  was  certainly  not  on  my  side.  But  I  now  came 
from  a  larger  sphere  of  society  than  that  in  which  he  had  yet 
moved.  I  had  seen  and  listened  to  the  first  men  in  England. 
What  had  then  dazzled  me  only,  now  moved  my  pity.  On  the 
other  hand,  his  active  mind  could  not  but  observe  the  change 
in  me ;  and,  whether  from  envy  or  a  better  feeling,  he  was 
willing  to  learn  from  me  how  to  eclipse  me,  and  resume  his 
earlier  superiority — not  to  be  superior  chafed  him.  Thus  he 
listened  to  me  with  docility  when  I  pointed  out  the  books 
which  connected  themselves  with  the  various  subjects  inci- 
dental to  the  miscellaneous  matters  on  which  he  was  employed. 
Though  he  had  less  of  the  literary  turn  of  mind  than  any  one 
equally  clever  I  had  ever  met,  and  had  read  little,  considering 
the  quantity  of  thought  he  had  acquired,  and  the  show  he 
made  of  the  few  works  with  which  he  had  voluntarily  made 
himself  familiar,  he  yet  resolutely  sate  himself  down  to  study  ; 
and  though  it  was  clearly  against  the  grain,  I  augured  the 
more  favorably  from  tokens  of  a  determination  to  do  what  was 
at  the  present  irksome  for  a  purpose  in  the  future.  Yet, 
whether  I  should  have  approved  the  purpose,  had  I  thoroughly 
understood  it,  is  another  question  !  There  were  abysses,  both 
in  his  past  life  and  in  his  character,  which  I  could  not  pene- 
trate. There  was  in  him  both  a  reckless  frankness  and  a 
vigilant  reserve  :  his  frankness  was  apparent  in  his  talk  on  all 


19©  THE    CAXTONS. 

matters  immediately  before  us  ;  in  the  utter  absence  of  all 
effort  to  make  himself  seem  better  than  he  was.  His  reserve 
was  equally  shown  in  the  ingenious  evasion  of  every  species 
of  confidence  that  could  admit  me  into  such  secrets  of  his  life 
as  he  chose  to  conceal  :  where  he  had  been  born,  reared,  and 
educated  ;  how  he  came  to  be  thrown  on  his  own  resources  ; 
how  he  had  contrived,  how  he  had  subsisted,  were  all  matters 
on  which  he  had  seemed  to  take  an  oath  to  Harpocrates,  the 
god  of  silence.  And  yet  he  was  full  of  anecdotes  of  what  he 
had  seen,  of  strange  companions,  whom  he  never  named,  but 
with  whom  he  had  been  thrown.  And,  to  do  him  justice,  I 
remarked  that,  though  his  precocious  experience  seemed. to 
have  been  gathered  from  the  holes  and  corners,  the  sewers  and 
drains  of  life,  and  though  he  seemed  wholly  without  dislike  to 
dishonesty,  and  to  regard  virtue  or  vice  with  as  serene  an 
indifference  as  some  grand  poet  who  views  them  both  merely 
as  ministrants  to  his  art,  yet  he  never  betrayed  any  positive 
breach  of  honesty  in  himself.  He  could  laugh  over  the  story 
of  some  ingenious  fraud  that  he  had  witnessed,  and  seem 
insensible  to  its  turpitude  ;  but  bespoke  of  it  in  the  tone  of  an 
approving  witness,  not  of  an  actual  accomplice.  As  we  grew 
more  intimate,  he  felt  gradually,  however,  that  />udor,  or  instinc- 
tive shame,  which  the  contact  with  minds  habituated  to  the  dis- 
tinctions between  wrong  and  right  unconsciously  produces,  and 
such  stories  ceased.  He  never  but  once  mentioned  his  family, 
and  that  was  in  the  following  odd  and  abrupt  manner  : 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  he  one  day,  stopping  suddenly  before  a  print- 
shop,  "  how  that  reminds  me  of  njy  dear,  dear  mother." 

"  Which  ?"  said  I  eagerly,  puzzled  between  an  engraving 
of  Raffaelle's  '"  Madonna,"  and  another  of  "  The  Brigand's 
Wife." 

Vivian  did  not  satisfy  my  curiosity,  but  drew  me  on  in  spite 
of  my  reluctance. 

"  You  loved  your  mother,  then  ? "  said  I,  after  a  pause. 

"Yes,  as  a  whelp  may  a  tigress." 

•'  That's  a  strange  comparison." 

"  Or  a  bull-dog  may  the  prize-fighter,  his  master  !  Do  you 
like  that  better  ? " 

"  Not  much  ;  is  it  a  comparison  your  mother  would  like  ?  " 

"  Like  ? — she  is  dead  !  "  said  he,  rather  falteringly. 

I  pressed  his  arm  closer  to  mine. 

"  I  understand  you,"  .said  he,  with  his  cynic,  repellent  smile. 
"  But  you  do  wrong  to  feel  for  my  loss.  I  feel  for  it ;  but  no 
one  who  cares  for  me  should  sympathize  with  my  grief." 


THE     CAXTONS.  I9I 

i<  Why  ?  " 

*'  Because  my  mother  was  not  what  the  world  would  call  a 
good  woman.  I  did  not  love  her  the  less  for  that.  And  now 
let  us  change  the  subject." 

"  Nay ;  since  you  have  said  so  much,  Vivian,  let  me  coax 
you  to  say  on.     Is  not  your  father  living?" 

**  Is  not  the  Monument  standing  ? " 

*'  I  suppose  so  ;  what  of  that  ? " 

"  Why,  it  matters  very  little  to  either  of  us  ;  and  my  question 
answers  yours  ! " 

I  could  not  get  on  after  this,  and  I  never  did  get  on  a  step 
farther.  I  must  own  that  if  Vivian  did  not  impart  his  con- 
fidence liberally,  neither  did  he  seek  confidence  inquisitively 
from  me.  He  listened  with  interest  if  I  spoke  of  Trevanion 
(for  I  told  him  frankly  of  my  connection  with  that  personage, 
though  you  may  be  sure  that  I  said  nothing  of  Fanny),  and  of 
the  brilliant  world  that  my  residence  with  one  so  distinguished 
opened  to  me.  But  if  ever,  in  the  fulness  of  my  heart,  I  be- 
gan to  speak  of  my  parents,  of  my  home,  he  evinced  either  so 
impertinent  an  ennui,  or  assumed  so  chilling  a  sneer,  that  I 
usually  hurried  away  from  him,  as  well  as  the  subject,  in 
indignant  disgust.  Once  especially,  when  I  asked  him  to  let 
me  introduce  him  to  my  father — a  point  on  which  I  was  really 
anxious,  for  I  thought  it  impossible  but  that  the  devil  within 
him  would  be  softened  by  that  contact — he  said,  with  his  low, 
scornful  laugh  : 

"  My  dear  Caxton,  when  I  was  a  child,  I  was  so  bored  with 
*  Telemachus,'  that,  in  order  to  endure  it,  I  turned  it  into 
travesty." 

"Well?" 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  that  the  same  wicked  disposition  might 
make  a  caricature  of  your  Ulysses  ?  " 

I  did  hot  see  Mr.  Vivian  for  three  days  after  that  speech, 
and  I  should  not  have  seen  him  then,  only  we  met,  by  acci- 
dent, under  the  Colonnade  of  the  Opera  House.  Vivian  was 
leaning  against  one  of  the  columns,. and  watching  the  long 
procession  which  swept  to  the  only  temple  in  vogue  that  Art 
has  retained  in  the  English  Babel.  Coaches  and  chariots, 
blazoned  with  arms  and  coronets  ;  cabriolets  (the  brougham 
had  not  then  replaced  them)  of  sober  hue,  but  exquisite 
appointment,  with  gigantic  horses  and  pigmy  "  tigers," 
dashed  on,  and  rolled  off  before  him.  Fair  women  and  gay 
dresses,  stars  and  ribbons — the  rank  and  the  beauty  of  the 
patrician  world — passed  him  by.     And  I  could  not  resist  the 


192  THE     CAXTONS. 

compassion  with  which  this  lonely,  friendless,  eager,  discon- 
tented spirit  inspired  me,  gazing  on  that  gorgeous  existence 
in  which  it  fancied  itself  formed  to  shine,  with  the  ardor  of 
desire  and  the  despair  of  exclusion.  By  one  glimpse  of  that 
dark  countenance,  I  read  what  was  passing  within  the  yet 
darker  heart.  The  emotion  might  not  be  amiable,  nor  the 
thoughts  wise,  yet,  were  they  unnatural  ?  I  had  experienced 
something  of  them,  not  at  the  sight  of  gay-dressed  people,  of 
wealth  and  idleness,  pleasure  and  fashion  ;  but  when,  at  the 
doors  of  Parliament,  men  who  have  won  noble  names,  and 
whose  word  had  weight  on  the  destinies  of  glorious  England, 
brushed  heedlessly  by  to  their  grand  arena  ;  or  when,  amidst 
the  holiday  growd  of  ignoble  pomp,  I  had  heard  the  murmur 
of  fame  buzz  and  gather  round  some  lordly  laborer  in  art  or 
letters.  That  contrast  between  glory  so  near,  and  yet  so  far, 
and  one's  own  obscurity,  of  course  I  had  felt  it — who  has  not? 
Alas  !  many  a  youth  not  fated  to  be  a  Themistocles  will  yet  feel 
that  the  trophies  of  a  Miltiades  will  not  suffer  him  to  sleep  ! 
So  I  went  up  to  Vivian  and  laid  my  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Ah  !  "  said  he,  more  gently  than  usual,  "  I  am  glad  to  see 
you — and  to  apologize — I  offended  you  the  other  day.  But 
3'ou  would  not  get  very  gracious  answers  from  souls  in  Pur- 
gatory, if  you  talked  to  them  of  the  happiness  of  heaven. 
Never  speak  to  me  about  homes  and  fathers  !  Enough,  I  see 
you  forgive  me.  Why  are  you  not  going  to  the  opera  ?  Yott 
can  ? " 

"  And  you,  too,  if  you  so  please.  A  ticket  is  shamefully  dear, 
to  be  sure  ;  still,  if  you  are  fond  of  music,  it  is  a  luxury  you 
can  afford." 

"  Oh,  you  flatter  me  if  you  fancy  the  prudence  of  saving 
withholds  me  !  I  did  go  the  other  night,  but  I  shall  not  go 
again.  Music  ! — when  you  go  to  the  opera,  is  it  for  the 
music  ? " 

"  Only  partially,  I  own  :  the  lights,  the  scene,  the  pageant, 
attract  me  quite  as  much.  But  I  do  not  think  the  opera  a 
very  profitable  pleasure  for  either  of  us.  For  rich,  idle  people, 
I  dare  say,  it  may  be  as  innocent  an  amusement  as  any  other, 
but  I  find  it  a  sad  enervator." 

"  And  I  just  the  reverse — a  horrible  stimulant !  Caxton, 
do  you  know  that,  ungracious  as  it  will  sound  to  you,  I  am 
growing  impatient  of  this  '  honorable  independence  ' !  What 
does  it  lead  to  ? — board,  clothes,  and  lodging — can  it  ever 
bring  me  anything  more  ? " 

**  At  first,  Vivian,  you  limited  your  aspirations  to  kid  gloves 


THE     CAXTONS.  I93 

and  a  cabriolet  :  it  has  brought  the  kid  gloves  already  ;  by 
and  by  it  will  bring  the  cabriolet  !  " 

"  Our  wishes  grow  by  what  they  feed  on.  You  live  in  the 
great  world  ;  you  can  have  excitement  if  you  please  it ;  I  want 
excitement,  I  want  the  world,  I  want  room  for  my  mind,  man  ! 
Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  Perfectly — and  sympathize  with  you,  my  poor  Vivian  ;  but 
it  will  all  come.  Patience,  as  I  preached  to  you  while  dawn 
rose  so  comfortless  over  the  streets  of  London.  You  are  not 
losing  time ;  fill  your  mind  ;  read,  study,  fit  yourself  for  am- 
bition. Why  wish  to  fly  till  you  have  got  your  wings?  Live 
in  books  now  :  after  all,  they  are  splendid  palaces,  and  open 
to  us  all,  rich  and  poor." 

"  Books,  books  !  Ah,  you  are  the  son  of  a  bookman  !  It 
is  not  by  books  that  men  get  on  in  the  world,  and  enjoy  life  in 
the  mean  while." 

"  I  don't  know  that  ;  but,  my  good  fellow,  you  want  to  do 
both — get  on  in  the  world  as  fast  as  labor  can,  and  enjoy  life 
as  pleasantly  as  indolence  may.  You  want  to  live  like  the 
butterfly,  and  yet  have  all  the  honey  of  the  bee  ;  and,  what 
is  the  very  deuce  of  the  whole,  even  as  the  butterfly,  you 
ask  every  flower  to  grow  up  in  a  moment  ;  and,  as  a  bee,  the 
whole  hive  must  be  stored  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  !  Patience, 
patience,  patience." 

Vivian  sighed  a  fierce  sigh.  "  I  suppose,"  said  he,  after  an 
unquiet  pause,  "  that  the  vagrant  and  the  outlaw  are  strong 
in  me,  for  I  long  to  run  back  to  my  old  existence,  which  was 
all  action,  and  therefore  allowed  no  thought." 

While  he  thus  said,  we  had  wandered  round  the  Colonnade, 
and  were  in  that  narrow  passage  in  which  is  situated  the  more 
private  entrance  to  the  opera  :  close  by  the  doors  of  that 
entrance,  two  or  three  young  men  were  lounging.  As  Vivian 
ceased,  the  voice  of  one  of  these  loungers  came  laughingly  to 
our  ears. 

"  Oh  !  "  it  said,  apparently  in  answer  to  some  question,  "  I 
have  a  much  quicker  way  to  fortune  than  that  ;  I  mean  to 
marry  an  heiress  !  " 

Vivian  started,  and  looked  at  the  speaker.  He  was  a  very 
good-looking  fellow.  Vivian  continued  to  look  at  him,  and 
deliberately,  from  head  to  foot :  he  then  turned  away  with  a 
satisfied  and  thoughtful  smile. 

"  Certainly,"  said  I  gravely  (construing  the  smile),  "  you 
are  right  there  ;  you  are  even  better-looking  than  that  heiress- 
hunter  ! " 


194  THE    CAXTONS. 

Vivian  colored  ;  but  before  he  could  answer,  one  of  the 
loungers,  as  the  group  recovered  from  the  gay  laugh  which 
their  companion's  easy  coxcombry  had  excited,  said  : 

'*  Then,  by  the  way,  if  you  want  an  heiress,  here  comes  one 
of  the  greatest  in  England  ;  but  instead  of  being  a  younger 
son,  with  three  good  lives  between  you  and  an  Irish  peerage, 
one  ought  to  be  an  earl  at  least  to  aspire  to  Fanny  Trevanion  !  " 

The  name  thrilled  through  me — I  felt  myself  tremble — and, 
looking  up,  I  saw  Lady  EUinor  and  Miss  Trevanion,  as  they 
hurried  from  their  carriage  towards  the  entrance  of  the  opera. 
They  both  recognized  me,  and  Fanny  cried  : 

"  You  here  !  How  fortunate  !  You  must  see  us  into  the 
box,  even  if  you  run  away  the  moment  after." 

"  But  I  am  not  dressed  for  the  opera,"  said  I,  embarrassed. 

"And  why  not  ?"  asked  Miss  Trevanion;  then,  dropping 
her  voice,  she  added  :  "  Why  do  you  desert  us  so  wilfully  ?  " — 
and,  leaning  her  hand  on  my  arm,  I  was  drawn  irresistibly 
into  the  lobby.  The  young  loungers  at  the  door  made  v/ay 
for  us,  and  eyed  me,  no  doubt,  with  envy. 

"  Nay  !  "  said  I,  affecting  to  laugh,  as  I  saw  Miss  Trevan- 
ion waited  for  my  reply.  **  You  forget  how  little  time  I  have 
for  such  amusements  now — and  my  uncle — " 

"  Oh,  but  mamma  and  I  have  been  to  see  your  uncle  to-day, 
and  he  is  nearly  well — is  he  not,  mamma  ?  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  I  like  and  admire  him.  He  is  just  what  I  fancy  a  Doug- 
las of  the  old  day.  But  mamma  is  impatient.  Well,  you 
must  dine  with  us  to-morrow — promise  ! — not  adieu  but  au 
revoir,"  and  Fanny  glided  to  her  mother's  arm.  Lady  EUinor, 
always  kind  and  courteous  to  me,  had  good-naturedly  lingered 
till  this  dialogue,  or  rather  monologue,  was  over. 

On  returning  to  the  passage,  1  found  Vivian  walking  to  and 
fro  ;  he  had  lighted  his  cigar,  and  was  smoking  energetically. 

"  So  this  great  heiress,"  said  he,  smiling,  "  who,  as  far  as  I 
could  see — under  her  hood — seems  no  less  fair  than  rich,  is 
the  daughter,  I  presume,  of  the  Mr.  Trevanion  whose  effusions 
you  so  kindly  submit  to  me.  He  is  very  rich,  then  ?  You 
never  said  so,  yet  I  ought  to  have  known  it  :  but  you  see  I 
know  nothing  of  your  beau  monde — not  even  that  Miss  Tre- 
vanion is  one  of  the  greatest  heiresses  in  England." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Trevanion  is  rich,"  said  I,  repressing  a  sigh — 
"  very  rich," 

"  And  you  are  his  secretary  !  My  dear  friend,  you  may 
well  offer  me  patience,  for  a  large  stock  of  yours  will,  I  hope, 
be  superfluous  to  you." 


THE     CAXTONS.  195 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"Yet  you  heard  that  young  gentleman,  as  well  as  myself ; 
and  you  are  in  the  same  house  as  the  heiress." 

"  Vivian  /  " 

"  Well,  what  have  I  said  so  monstrous  ?  " 

"  Pooh  !  since  you  refer  to  that  young  gentleman,  you 
heard,  too,  what  his  companion  told  him — '  one  ought  to  be 
an  earl,  at  least,  to  aspire  to  Fanny  Trevanion  ! '  " 

"  Tut  !  as  well  say  that  one  ought  to  be  a  millionnaire  to 
aspire  to  a  million ! — yet  I  believe  those  who  make  millions 
generally  begin  with  pence." 

"  That  belief  should  be  a  comfort  and  encouragement  to 
you,  Vivian.     And,  now,  good-night ;  I  have  much  to  do." 

"  Good-night,  then,"  said  Vivian,  and  we  parted.' 

I  made  my  way  to  Mr.  Trevanion's  house,  and  to  the  study. 
There  was  a  formidable  arrear  of  business  waiting  for  me,  and 
I  sate  down  to  it  at  first  resolutely ;  but,  by  degrees,  I  found 
my  thoughts  wandering  from  the  eternal  blue-books,  and  the 
pen  slipped  from  my  hand,  in  the  midst  of  an  extract  from  a 
Report  on  Sierra  Leone.  My  pulse  beat  loud  and  quick  ;  I 
was  in  that  state  of  nervous  fever  which  only  emotion  can 
occasion.  The  sweet  voice  of  Fanny  rang  in  my  ears  ;  her 
eyes,  as  I  had  last  met  them,  unusually  gentle,  almost  beseech- 
ing, gazed  upon  me  wherever  I  turned:  and  then,  as  in  mock- 
ery, I  heard  again  those  words  :  "  One  ought  to  be  an  earl,  at 
least,  to  aspire  to  " — Oh  !  did  I  aspire  ?  Was  I  vain  fool  so 
frantic?  Household  traitor  so  consummate  ?  No,  no  !  Then 
what  did  I  under  the  same  roof  ?  Why  stay  to  imbibe  this 
sweet  poison,  that  was  corroding  the  very  springs  of  my  life? 
At  that  self-question,  which,  had  I  been  but  a  year  or  two 
older,  I  should  have  asked  long  before,  a  mortal  terror  seized 
me  ;  the  blood  rushed  from  my  heart,  and  left  me  cold — icy  cold. 
To  leave  the  house  !  Leave  Fanny  !  Never  again  to  see 
those  eyes — never  to  hear  that  voice  ! — better  die  of  the  sweet 
poison  than  of  the  desolate  exile  !  I  rose — I  opened  the  win- 
dows— I  walked  to  and  fro  the  room  :  I  could  decide  nothing, 
think  of  nothing ;  all  my  mind  was  in  an  uproar.  With  a  violent 
effort  at  self-mastery,  I  approached  the  table  again.  I  resolved 
to  force  myself  to  my  task,  if  it  were  only  to  re-collect  my  facul- 
ties, and  enable  them  to  bear  my  own  torture.  I  turned  over  the 
books  impatiently,  when,  lo  !  buried  amongst  them,  what  met 
my  eye — archly,  yet  reproachfully — the  face  of  Fanny  herself  ! 
Her  miniature  was  there.  It  had  been,  I  knew,  taken  a  few 
days  before,  by  a  young  artist  whom  Trevanion  patronized.     I 


196  THE    CAXTONS. 

suppose  he  had  carried  it  into  his  study  to  examine  it,  and  »e 
left  it  there  carelessly.  The  painter  had  seized  her  peculiar  ex. 
pression — her  ineffable  smile — so  charming,  so  malicious  ;  even 
her  favorite  posture — the  small  head  turned  over  the  rounded 
Hebe-like  shoulder,  the  eye  glancing  up  from  under  the  hair. 
I  know  not  what  change  in  my  madness  came  over  me  ;  but  I 
sank  on  my  knees,  and,  kissing  the  miniature  again  and  again, 
burst  into  tears.  Such  tears  !  I  did  not  hear  the  door  open, 
1  did  not  see  the  shadow  steal  over  the  floor  :  a  light  hand 
rested  on  my  shoulder,  trembling  as  it  rested — I  started. 
Fanny  herself  was  bending  over  me  ! 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked  tenderly.  "  What  has 
happened  ?  Your  uncle — your  family — all  well  ?  Why  are 
you  weeping  ? " 

I  could  not  answer  ;  but  I  kept  my  hands  clasped  over  the 
miniature,  that  she  might  not  see  what  they  contained. 

"Will  you  not  answer?  Am  I  not  your  friend.'' — almost 
your  sister  ?     Come,  shall  I  call  mamma  ?  " 

"  Yes — yes  ;  go — go." 

"  No,  I  will  not  go  yet.  What  have  you  there  ?  What  are 
you  hiding  ? " 

And  innocently,  and  sister-like,  those  hands  took  mine  ;  and 
so — and  so — the  picture  became  visible  !  There  was  a  dead 
silence.  I  looked  up  through  my  tears.  Fanny  had  recoiled 
some  steps,  and  her  cheek  was  very  flushed,  her  eyes  downcast. 
I  felt  as  if  I  had  committed  a  crime — as  if  dishonor  clung  to 
me  ;  and  yet  I  repressed — yes,  thank  Heaven  !  I  repressed 
the  cry  that  swelled  from  my  heart,  that  rushed  to  my  lips  : 
"  Pity  me,  for  I  love  you  !  "  I  repressed  it,  and  only  a  groan 
escaped  me — the  wail  of  my  lost  happiness  !  Then,  rising,  I 
laid  the  miniature  on  the  table,  and  said,  in  a  voice  that  I 
believe  was  firm  : 

"  Miss  Trevanion,  you  have  been  as  kind  as  a  sister  to  me, 
and  therefore  I  was  bidding  a  brother's  farewell  to  your  like- 
ness ;  it  is  so  like  you — this  !  " 

"  Farewell !  "  echoed  Fanny,  still  not  looking  up. 

"Farewell — sister!  There,  I  have  boldly  said  the  word; 
for — for  " — I  hurried  to  the  door,  and,  there  turning,  added, 
with  what  I  meant  to  be  a  smile — "  for  they  say  at  home  that 
I — I  am  not  well  ;  too  much  for  me  this  ;  you  know  mothers 
will  be  foolish  ;  and — and — I  am  to  speak  to  your  father  to- 
morrow ;  and — good-night — God  bless  you,  Miss  Trevanion  ! " 


THE    CAXTONS.  I97 

PART    NINTH. 


CHAPTER   I. 

And  my  father  pushed  aside  his  books. 

O  young  reader,  whoever  thou  art, — or  reader,  at  least,  who 
hast  been  young — canst  thou  not  remember  some  time  when, 
with  thy  wild  troubles  and  sorrows  as  yet  borne  in  secret, thou 
hast  come  back  from  that  hard,  stern  world  which  opens  on 
thee  when  thou  puttest  thy  foot  out  of  the  threshold  of  home — 
come  back  to  the  four  quiet  walls,  wherein  thine  elders  sit  in 
peace,  and  seen,  with  a  sort  of  sad  amaze,  how  calm  and  undis- 
turbed all  is  there?  That  generation  which  has  gone  before 
thee  in  the  path  of  the  passions  —  the  generation  of  thy 
parents  (not  so  many  years,  perchance,  remote  from  thine 
own) — how  immovably  far  off,  in  its  still  repose,  it  seems  from 
thy  turbulent  youth  !  It  has  in  it  a  stillness  as  of  a  classic 
age,  antique  as  the  statues  of  the  Greeks.  That  tranquil 
monotony  of  routine  into  which  those  lives  that  preceded  thee 
have  merged,  the  occupations  that  they  have  found  sufficing 
for  their  happiness,  by  the  fireside — in  the  arm-chair  and 
corner  appropriated  to  each — how  strangely  they  contrast 
thine  own  feverish  excitement  !  And  they  make  room  for 
thee,  and  bid  thee  welcome,  and  then  resettle  to  their  hushed 
pursuits,  as  if  nothing  had  happened  !  Nothing  had  hap- 
pened !  while  in  thy  heart,  perhaps,  the  whole  world  seems  to 
have  shot  from  its  axis,  all  the  elements  to  be  at  war !  And 
you  sit  down,  crushed  by  that  quiet  happiness  which  you  can 
share  no  more,  and  smile  mechanically,  and  look  into  the  fire  ; 
and,  ten  to  one,  you  say  nothing  till  the  time  comes  for  bed, 
and  you  take  up  your  candle,  and  creep  miserably  to  your 
lonely  room. 

Now,  if  in  a  stage-coach  in  the  depth  of  winter,  when  three 
passengers  are  warm  and  snug,  a  fourth,  all  besnowed  and 
frozen,  descends  from  the  outside  and  takes  place  amongst 
them,  straightway  all  the  three  passengers  shift  their  places, 
uneasily  pull  up  their  cloak  collars,  re-arrange  their  "  com- 
forters," feel  indignantly  a  sensible  loss  of  caloric — the  intruder 
has  at  least  made  a  sensation.  But  if  you  had  all  the  snows 
of  the  Grampians  in  your  heart,  you  might  enter  unnoticed  ; 
take  care  not  to  tread  on  the  toes  of  your  opposite  neighbor, 
and  not  a  soul  is  disturbed,  not  a  "comforter"  stirs  an  inch  ! 


igS  THE    CAXTONS. 

I  had  not  slept  a  wink,  I  had  not  even  lain  down  all  that 
night — the  night  in  which  I  had  said  farewell  to  Fanny  Tre- 
vanion — and  the  next  morning,  when  the  sun  rose,  I  wandered 
out,  where  I  know  not.  I  have  a  dim  recollection  of  long, 
gray,  solitary  streets,  of  the  river  that  seemed  flowing  in  dull, 
sullen  silence,  away,  far  away,  into  some  invisible  eternity ; 
trees  and  turf,  and  the  gay  voices  of  children.  I  must  have 
gone  from  one  end  of  the  great  Babel  to  the  other :  but  my 
memory  only  became  clear  and  distinct  when  I  knocked,  some- 
where before  noon,  at  the  door  of  my  father's  house,  and,  pass- 
ing heavily  up  the  stairs,  came  into  the  drawing-room,  which 
was  the  rendezvous  of  the  little  family  ;  for,  since  we  had  been 
in  London,  my  father  had  ceased  to  have  his  study  apart,  and 
contented  himself  with  what  he  called  "  a  corner  " — a  corner 
wide  enough  to  contain  two  tables  and  a  dumb  waiter,  with 
chairs  a  discretion  all  littered  with  books.  On  the  opposite 
side  of  this  capacious  corner  sat  my  uncle,  now  nearly  con- 
valescent, and  he  was  jotting  down,  in  his  stiff,  military  hand, 
certain  figures  in  a  little  red  account-book — for  you  know 
already  that  my  Uncle  Roland  was,  in  his  expenses,  the  most 
methodical  of  men. 

My  father's  face  was  more  benign  than  usual,  for  before  him 
lay  a  proof — the  first  proof  of  his  first  work — his  one  work — 
the  Great  Book  !  Yes  !  it  had  positively  found  a  press.  And 
the  first  proof  of  your  first  work — ask  any  author  what  tJiat  is  ! 
My  mother  was  out,  with  the  faithful  Mrs.  Primmins,  shopping 
or  marketing,  no  doubt  ;  so,  while  the  brothers  were  thus 
engaged,  it  was  natural  that  my  entrance  should  not  make  as 
much  noise  as  if  it  had  been  a  bomb,  or  a  singer,  or  a  clap  of 
thunder,  or  the  last  "great  novel  of  the  season,"  or  anything 
else  that  made  a  noise  in  those  days.  P'or  what  makes  a  noise 
now?  Now,  when  the  most  astonishing  thing  of  all  is  our 
easy  familiarity  with  things  astounding  :  when  we  say  listlessly, 
"  Another  revolution  at  Paris,"  or,  "  By  the  by,  there  is  the 
deuce  to  do  at  Vienna !  "  when  De  Joinville  is  catching  fish  in 
the  ponds  at  Claremont,  and  you  hardly  turn  back  to  look  at 
Metternich  on  the  pier  at  Brighton  ! 

My  uncle  nodded  and  growled  indistinctly  ;  my  father — 
"  Put  aside  his  books;  you  have  told  us  that  already." 
Sir,  you  are  very  much  mistaken  ;  it  was  not  then  that  he 
put  aside  his  books,  for  he  was  not  then  engaged  in  them — 
he  was  reading  his  proof.  And  he  smiled,  and  pointed  to  it 
(the  proof  I  mean)  pathetically,  and  with  a  kind  of  humor,  as 
much  as  to  say  :    "  What  can  you  expect,  Pisistratus  ? — my 


*rHE   CAXTONS.  I99 

new  baby  in  short  clothes — or  long  primer,  which  is  all  the 
same  thing  !  " 

I  took  a  chair  between  the  two,  and  looked  first  at  one,  then 
at  the  other.  Heaven  forgive  me  ! — I  felt  a  rebellious,  un- 
grateful spite  against  both.  The  bitterness  of  my  soul  must 
have  been  deep  indeed,  to  have  overflowed  in  that  direction, 
but  it  did.  The  grief  of  youth  is  an  abominable  egotist,  and 
that  is  the  truth.  I  got  up  from  the  chair  and  walked  towards 
the  window  ;  it  was  open,  and  outside  the  window  was  Mrs. 
Primmins'  canary,  in  its  cage.  London  air  had  agreed  with  it, 
and  it  was  singing  lustily.  Now,  when  the  canary  saw  me 
standing  opposite  to  its  cage,  and  regarding  it  seriously,  and, 
I  have  no  doubt,  with  a  very  sombre  aspect,  the  creature  stopped 
short,  and  hung  its  head  on  one  side,  looking  at  me  obliquely 
and  suspiciously.  Finding  that  I  did  it  no  harm,  it  began  to 
hazard  a  few  broken  notes,  timidly  and  interrogatively,  as  it 
were,  pausing  between  each  ;  and  at  length,  as  I  made  no 
reply,  it  evidently  thought  it  had  solved  the  doubt,  and  ascer- 
tained that  I  was  more  to  be  pitied  than  feared,  for  it  stole 
gradually  into  so  soft  and  silvery  a  strain  that,  I  verily  believe, 
it  did  it  on  purpose  to  comfort  me  ! — me,  its  old  friend,  whom 
it  had  unjustly  suspected.  Never  did  any  music  touch  me  so 
home  as  did  that  long,  plaintive  cadence.  And  when  the  bird 
ceased,  it  perched  itself  close  to  the  bars  of  the  cage,  and 
looked  at  me  steadily  with  its  bright,  intelligent  eyes.  I  felt 
mine  water,  and  I  turned  back  and  stood  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  irresolute  what  to  do,  where  to  go.  My  father 
had  done  with  the  proof,  and  was  deep  in  his  folios.  Roland 
had  clasped  his  red  account  book,  restored  it  to  his  pocket, 
wiped  his  pen  carefully,  and  now  watched  me  from  under  his 
great  beetle-brows.  Suddenly  he  rose,  and,  stamping  on  the 
hearth  with  his  cork  leg,  exclaimed  :  "  Look  up  from  those 
cursed  books,  Brother  Austin  !  What  is  there  in  your  son's 
face  ?     Construe  that  if  you  can  I  '* 

CHAPTER  IL 

And  my  father  pushed  aside  his  books,  and  rose  hastily. 
He  took  off  his  spectacles,  and  rubbed  them  mechanically,  but 
he  said  nothing  ;  and  my  uncle,  staring  at  him  for  a  moment 
in  surprise  at  his  silence,  burst  out : 

"  Oh  !  I  see  ;  he  has  been  getting  into  some  scrape,  and  you 
are  angry.     Fie !    young  blood  will  have  its  way,  Austin — it 


200  THE   CAXTONS. 

will.  I  don't  blame  that — it  is  only  when — come  here,  Sisty. 
Zounds  !  man,  come  here." 

My  father  gently  brushed  off  the  Captain's  hand,  and,  ad- 
vancing towards  me,  opened  his  arms.  The  next  moment  I 
was  sobbing  on  his  breast. 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  ?"  cried  Captain  Roland:  "Will 
nobody  say  what  is  the  matter  ?  Money,  I  suppose — money, 
you  confounded  extravagant  young  dog.  Luckily  you  have 
got  an  uncle  who  has  more  than  he  knows  what  to  do  with. 
How  much?  Fifty?  A  hundred  ?  Two  hundred  ?  How  can 
I  write  the  check,  if  you'll  not  speak  ?" 

"  Hush,  brother  !  it  is  no  money  you  can  give  that  will  set 
this  right.  My  poor  boy  !  Have  I  guessed  truly  ?  Did  I 
guess  truly  the  other  evening,  when — " 

"  Yes,  sir,  yes  !  I  have  been  so  wretched.  But  I  am  better 
now — I  can  tell  you  all." 

My  uncle  moved  slowly  towards  the  door :  his  fine  sense  of 
delicacy  made  him  think  that  even  he  was  out  of  place  in  the 
confidence  between  son  and  father. 

"No,  uncle,"  I  said,  holding  out  my  hand  to  him,  "stay; 
you  too  can  advise  me — strengthen  me.  I  have  kept  my  honor 
yet — help  me  to  keep  it  still." 

At  the  sound  of  the  word  honor.  Captain  Roland  stood  mute, 
and  raised  his  head  quickly. 

So  I  told  all — incoherently  enough  at  first,  but  clearly  and 
manfully  as  I  went  on.  Now  I  know  that  it  is  not  the  cu.stom 
of  lovers  to  confide  in  fathers  and  uncles.  Judging  by  those 
mirrors  of  life,  plays  and  novels,  they  choose  better — valets 
and  chambermaids,  and  friends  whom  they  have  picked  up  in 
the  street,  as  I  had  picked  up  poor  Francis  Vivian — to  these 
they  make  clean  breasts  of  their  troubles.  But  fathers  and 
uncles — to  them  they  are  close,  impregnable,  "buttoned  to  the 
chin."  The  Caxtons  were  an  eccentric  family,  and  never  did 
anything  like  other  people.  When  I  had  ended,  I  lifted  up 
my  eyes,  and  said  pleadingly :  "  Now,  tell  me,  is  there  no 
hope — none?" 

"  Why  should  there  be  none  ?  "  cried  Captain  Roland  hastily  ; 
"  The  De  Caxtons  are  as  good  a  family  as  the  Trevanions  ; 
and  as  for  yourself,  all  I  will  say  is,  that  the  young  lady  might 
choose  worse  for  her  own  happiness." 

I  wrung  my  uncle's  hand,  and  turned  to  my  father  in  anxious 
fear,  for  I  knew  that,  in  spite  of  his  secluded  habits,  few  men 
ever  formed  a  sounder  judgment  on  worldly  matters,  when  he 
._was  fairly  drawn  to  look  at  them.     A  thing  wonderful  is  that 


THE     CAXTONS.  20i 

plain  wisdom  which  scholars  and  poets  often  have  for  others, 
though  they  rarely  deign  to  use  it  for  themselves.  And  how 
on  earth  do  they  get  at  it  ?  I  looked  at  my  father,  and  the 
vague  hope  Roland  had  excited  fell  as  I  looked. 

"Brother,"  said  he  slowly,  and  shaking  his  head,  "the 
world,  which  gives  codes  and  laws  to  those  who  live  in  it,  does 
not  care  much  for  a  pedigree,  unless  it  goes  with  a  title-deed 
to  estates," 

"  Trevanion  was  not  richer  than  Pisistratus  when  he  married 
Lady  Ellinor,"  said  my  uncle. 

"  True  ;  but  Lady  Ellinor  was  not  then  an  heiress,  and  her 
father  viewed  these  matters  as  no  other  peer  in  England  per- 
haps would.  As  for  Trevanion  himself,  I  dare  say  he  has  no 
prejudices  about  station,  but  he  is  strong  in  common-sense. 
He  values  himself  on  being  a  practical  man.  It  would  be 
folly  to  talk  to  him  of  love,  and  the  affections  of  youth.  He 
would  see  in  the  son  of  Austin  Caxton,  living  on  the  interest 
of  some  fifteen  or  sixteen  thousand  pounds,  such  a  match  for 
his  daughter  as  no  prudent  man  in  his  position  could  approve. 
And  as  for  Lady  Ellinor — " 

"  She  owes  us  much,  Austin  !  "  exclaimed  Roland,  his  face 
darkening. 

"  Lady  Ellinor  is  now  what,  if  we  had  known  her  better,  she 
promised  always  to  be — the  ambitious,  brilliant,  scheming 
woman  of  the  world.     Is  it  not  so,  Pisistratus  ? " 

I  said  nothing,  I  felt  too  much. 

"And  does  the  girl  like  you? — but  I  think  it  is  clear  she 
does  !  "  exclaimed  Roland,  "  Fate — fate  ;  it  has  been  a  fatal 
family  to  us  !  Zounds  !  Austin,  it  was  your  fault.  Why 
did  you  let  him  go  there  ?  " 

"  My  son  is  now  a  man — at  least  in  heart,  if  not  in  years  ; 
can  man  be  shut  from  danger  and  trial  ?  They  found  me  in 
the  old  parsonage,  brother  !  "  said  my  father  mildly. 

My  uncle  walked,  or  rather  stumped,  three  times  up  and 
down  the  room  ;  and  he  then  stopped  short,  folded  his  arras, 
and  came  to  a  decision  : 

"  If  the  girl  likes  you,  your  duty  is  doubly  clear — you  can't 
take  advantage  of  it.  You  have  done  right  to  leave  the  house, 
for  the  temptation  might  be  too  strong." 

"  But  what  excuse  shall  I  make  to  Mr.  Trevanion  ?  "  said  I 
feebly — "  What  story  can  I  invent?  So  careless  as  he  is  while 
he  trusts,  so  penetrating  if  he  once  suspects,  he  will  see  through 
all  my  subterfuges,  and — and — " 

"  It  is  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff,"  said  my  uncle  abruptly—^ 


202  THE     CAXTONS. 

**  and  there  need  be  no  subterfuge  in  the  matter.  *  I  must 
leave  you,  Mr.  Trevanion.'  '  Why  ? '  says  he.  '  Don't  ask  me.' 
He  insists.  '  Well  then,  sir,  if  you  must  know,  I  love  your 
daughter.  I  have  nothing,  she  is  a  great  heiress.  You  will 
not  approve  of  that  love,  and  therefore  I  leave  you  !  '  That 
is  the  course  that  becomes  an  English  gentleman.    Eh,  Austin  ? " 

"  You  are  never  wrong  when  your  instincts  speak,  Roland," 
said  my  father.  "  Can  you  say  this,  Pisistratus,  or  shall  I  say 
it  for  you  ?  " 

"  Let  him  say  it  himself,"  said  Roland  ;  "  and  let  him  judge 
himself  of  the  answer.  He  is  young,  he  is  clever,  he  may 
make  a  figure  in  the  world.  Trevanion  may  answer  :  '  Win 
the  lady  after  you  have  won  the  laurel,  like  the  knights  of  old.' 
At  all  events,  you  will  hear  the  worst." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  I  firmly  ;  and  I  took  my  hat  and  left  the 
room.  As  I  was  passing  the  landing-place,  a  light  step  stole 
down  the  upper  flight  of  stairs,  and  a  little  hand  seized  my 
own.  I  turned  quickly,  and  met  the  full,  dark,  seriously  sweet 
eyes  of  my  Cousin  Blanche. 

"  Don't  go  away  yet,  Sisty,"  said  she  coaxingly.  "  I  have 
been  waiting  for  you,  for  I  heard  your  voice,  and  did  not  like 
to  come  in  and  disturb  you." 

"  And  why  did  you  wait  for  me,  my  little  Blanche  ?" 

"  Why  !  only  to  see  you.  But  your  eyes  are  red.  Oh, 
cousin  I " — and,  before  I  was  aware  of  her  childish  impulse, 
she  had  sprung  to  my  neck  and  kissed  me.  Now  Blanche 
was  not  like  most  children,  and  was  very  sparing  of  her 
caresses.  So  it  was  out  of  the  deeps  of  a  kind  heart  that  that 
kiss  came.  I  returned  it  without  a  word  ;  and,  putting  her 
down  gently,  descended  the  stairs,  and  was  in  the  streets. 
But  I  had  not  got  far  before  I  heard  my  father's  voice  ;  and 
he  came  up,  and  hooking  his  arm  into  mine,  said  :  "  Are 
there  not  two  of  us  that  suffer  ?  — let  us  be  together  !  "  I 
pressed  his  arm,  and  we  walked  on  in  silence.  But  when  we 
were  near  Trevanion's  house,  I  said  hesitatingly  :  "  Would  it 
not  be  better,  sir,  that  I  went  in  alone.  If  there  is  to  be  an 
explanation  between  Mr.  Trevanion  and  myself,  would  it  not 
seem  as  if  your  presence  implied  either  a  request  to  him  that 
would  lower  us  both,  or  a  doubt  of  me  that — " 

"  You  will  go  in  alone,  of  course  :  I  will  wait  for  you — " 

"  Not  in  the  streets — oh,  no  !  father,"  cried  I,  touched  inex- 
pressibly. For  all  this  was  so  unlike  my  father's  habits,  that 
I  felt  remorse  to  have  so  communicated  my  young  griefs  to 
the  calm  dignity  of  his  serene  life. 


THE    CAXTONS.  203 

"  My  son,  you  do  not  know  how  I  love  you.  I  have  only 
known  it  myself  lately.  Look  you,  I  am  living  in  you  now, 
my  first-born  ;  not  in  my  other  son — the  Great  Book  :  I  must 
have  my  way.     Go  in  ;  that  is  the  door,  is  it  not  ?  " 

I  pressed  my  father's  hand,  and  I  felt  then,  that  while  that 
hand  could  reply  to  mine,  even  the  loss  of  Fanny  Trevanion 
could  not  leave  the  world  a  blank.  How  much  we  have  before 
us  in  life,  while  we  retain  our  parents  !  How  much  to  strive 
and  to  hope  for  !  What  a  motive  in  the  conquest  of  our  sor- 
row— that  they  may  not  sorrow  with  us  ! 

CHAPTER  ni. 

I  ENTERED  Trevauion's  study.  It  was  an  hour  in  which  he 
was  rarely  at  home,  but  I  had  not  thought  of  that ;  and  I  saw 
without  surprise  that,  contrary  to  his  custom,  he  was  in  his 
arm-chair,  reading  one  of  his  favorite  classic  authors, 
instead  of  being  in  some  committee-room  of  the  House  of 
Commons. 

"A  pretty  fellow  you  are,"  said  he,  looking  up,  "to  leave 
me  all  the  morning,  without  rhyme  or  reason  !  And  my  com- 
mittee is  postponed — chairman  ill ;  people  who  get  ill  should 
not  go  into  the  House  of  Commons.  So  here  I  am  looking 
into  Propertius  :  Parr  is  right  ;  not  so  elegant  a  writer  as 
Tibullus.  But  what  the  deuce  are  you  about  ?  Why  don't 
you  sit  down  ?  Humph  !  you  look  grave — you  have  something 
to  say — say  it  !  " 

And,  putting  down  Propertius,  the  acute,  sharp  face  of 
Trevanion  instantly  became  earnest  and  attentive. 

•*  My  dear  Mr.  Trevanion,"  said  I  with  as  much  steadiness 
as  I  could  assume,  "  you  have  been  most  kind  to  me  ;  and  out 
of  my  own  family  there  is  no  man  I  love  and  respect  more." 

Trevanion. — Humph  !  What's  all  this  ?  (In  an  under- 
tone).— Am  I  going  to  be  taken  in  ? 

PisiSTRATus. — Do  not  think  me  ungrateful,  then,  when  1 
say  I  come  to  resign  my  office — to  leave  the  house  where  I 
have  been  so  happy. 

Trevanion. — Leave  the  house  !  Pooh  !  I  have  overtasked 
you.  I  will  be  more  merciful  in  future.  You  must  forgive  a 
political  economist  ;  it  is  the  fault  of  my  sect  to  look  upon 
men  as  machines. 

PisiSTRATUS  (smiling  faintly). — No,  indeed  ;  that  is  not  it ! 
I  have  nothing  to  complain  of ;  nothing  I  could  wish  altered— 
could  I  stay. 


a04  THE    CAXTONS. 

Trevanion  (examining  me  thoughtfully). — And  does  your 
father  approve  of  your  leaving  me  thus  ? 

PisiSTRATUS. — Yes — fully. 

Trevanion  (musing  a  moment). — I  see,  he  would  send  you 
to  the  University,  make  you  a  book-worm  like  himself :  pooh  ! 
that  will  not  do — you  will  never  become  wholly  a  man  of  books, 
it  is  not  in  you.  Young  man,  though  I  may  seem  careless,  I 
read  characters,  when  I  please  it,  pretty  quickly.  You  do 
wrong  to  leave  me  ;  you  are  made  for  the  great  world — I  can 
open  to  you  a  high  career.  I  wish  to  do  so  !  Lady  Ellinor 
wishes  it — nay,  insists  on  it — for  your  father's  sake  as  well 
as  yours.  I  never  ask  a  favor  from  ministers,  and  I  never 
will.  But  (here  Trevanion  rose  suddenly,  and,  with  an  erect 
mien  and  a  quick  gesture  of  his  arm,  he  added) — but  a  minis- 
ter can  dispose  as  he  pleases  of  his  patronage.  Look  you,  it 
is  a  secret  yet,  and  I  trust  to  your  honor.  But,  before  the 
year  is  out,  I  must  be  in  the  cabinet.  Stay  with  me,  I  guaran- 
tee your  fortunes — three  months  ago  I  would  not  have  said 
that.  By  and  by  1  will  open  Parliament  for  you — you  are  not 
of  age  yet — work  till  then.  And  now  sit  down  and  write  my 
letters — a  sad  arrear  ! 

"  My  dear,  dear  Mr.  Trevanion  !  "  said  I,  so  affected  that  I 
could  scarcely  speak,  and  seizing  his  hand,  which  I  pressed 
between  both  mine — "  I  dare  not  thank  you — I  cannot !  But 
you  don't  know  my  heart — it  is  not  ambition.  No  !  if  I  could 
but  stay  here  on  the  same  terms  forever — here" — looking  rue- 
fully on  that  spot  where  Fanny  had  stood  the  night  before. 
"But  it  is  impossible  !  If  you  knew  all,  you  would  be  the  first 
to  bid  me  go  !  " 

"  You  are  in  debt,"  said  the  man  of  the  world  coldly.  "  Bad, 
very  bad — still — " 

"  No,  sir  ;  no  !  worse — " 

"  Hardly  possible  to  be  worse,  young  man — hardly  !  But, 
just  as  you  will  ;  you  leave  me,  and  will  not  say  why.  Good- 
by.     Why  do  you  linger  ? "     Shake  hartds,  and  go  !  " 

"  I  cannot  leave  you  thus  :  I — I — sir,  the  truth  shall  out.  I 
am  rash  and  mad  enough  not  to  see  Miss  Trevanion  without 
forgetting  that  I  am  poor,  and — " 

"  Ha  !  "  interrupted  Trevanion  softly,  and  growing  pale, 
"this  is  a  misfortune,  indeed!  And  I,  who  talked  of  read- 
ing characters  !  Truly,  truly,  we  would-be  practical  men 
are  fools — fools  !  And  you  have  made  love  to  my  daugh- 
ter ! " 

"  Sir  ?     Mr.  Trevanion  ! — no — never,  never  so  base '.     In 


THE  CAXtOhtS.  205 

your  house,  trusted  by  you — how  could  you  think  it  ?  I  dared, 
it  may  be,  to  love — at  all  events,  to  feel  that  I  could  not  be 
insensible  to  a  temptation  too  strong  for  me.  But  to  say  it 
to  your  heiress — to  ask  love  in  return — I  would  as  soon  have 
broken  open  your  desk  !  Frankly  I  tell  ycu  my  folly  :  it  is  a 
folly,  not  a  disgrace." 

Trevanion  came  up  to  me  abruptly,  as  I  leant  against  the 
book-case,  and,  grasping  my  hand  with  a  cordial  kindness, 
said  :  "  Pardon  me  !  You  have  behaved  as  your  father's  son 
should — I  envy  him  such  a  son  !  Now,  listen  to  me — I  cannot 
give  you  my  daughter — " 

*'  Believe  me,  sir,  I  never — " 

*'  Tut,  listen  !  I  cannot  give  you  my  daughter.  I  say  noth- 
ing of  inequality — all  gentlemen  are  equal  ;  and  if  not,  any 
impertinent  affectation  of  superiority,  in  such  a  case,  would 
come  ill  from  one  who  owes  his  own  fortune  to  his  wife  !  But, 
as  it  is,  I  have  a  stake  in  the  world,  won  not  by  fortune  only, 
but  the  labor  of  a  life,  the  suppression  of  half  my  nature — the 
drudging,  squaring,  taming  down  all  that  made  the  glory  and 
joy  of  my  youth — to  be  that  hard,  matter-of-fact  thing  which 
the  English  world  expect  in  a  states?nan!  This  station  has 
gradually  opened  into  its  natural  result — power  !  I  tell  you  I 
shall  soon  have  high  office  in  the  administration  :  I  hope  to 
render  great  services  to  England,  for  we  English  politicians, 
whatever  the  mob  and  the  press  say  of  us,  are  not  selfish  place- 
hunters.  I  refused  office,  as  high  as  1  look  for  now,  ten  years 
ago.  We  believe  in  our  opinions,  and  we  hail  the  power  that 
may  carry  them  into  effect.  In  this  cabinet  I  shall  have 
enemies.  Oh,  don't  think  we  leave  jealousy  behind  us,  at  the 
doors  of  Downing  Street !  I  shall  be  one  of  a  minority.  I 
know  well  what  must  happen  :  like  all  men  in  power,  I  must 
strengthen  myself  by  other  heads  and  hands  than  my  own. 
My  daughter  shall  bring  to  me  the  alliance  of  that  house  in 
England  which  is  most  necessary  to  me.  My  life  falls  to  the 
ground,  like  a  child's  pyramid  of  cards,  if  I  waste — I  do  not 
say  on  you,  but  on  men  of  ten  times  your  fortune  (whatever 
that  be),  the  means  of  strength  which  are  at  my  disposal  in 
the  hand  of  Fanny  Trevanion.  To  this  end  I  have  looked  ; 
but  to  this  end  her  mother  has  schemed — for  these  household 
matters  are  within  a  man's  hopes,  but  belong  to  a  woman's 
policy.  So  much  for  us.  But  to  you,  my  dear,  and  frank,  and 
high-souled  young  friend — to  you,  if  I  were  not  Fanny's 
father — if  I  were  your  nearest  relation,  and  Fanny  could  be  had 
for  the  asking,  with  all  her  princely  dower  (for  it  is  princely) — 


io6  THE   CAXTONS. 

to  you  I  should  say,  fly  from  a  load  upon  the  heart,  on  the 
genius,  the  energy,  the  pride,  and  the  spirit,  which  not  one 
man  in  ten  thousand  can  bear  ;  fly  from  the  curse  of  owing 
everything  to  a  wife !  It  is  a  reversal  of  all  natural  position, 
it  is  a  blow  to  all  the  manhood  within  us.  You  know  not 
what  it  is  ;  I  do  !  My  wife's  fortune  came  not  till  after  mar- 
riage— so  far,  so  well ;  it  saved  my  reputation  from  the  charge 
of  fortune-hunting.  But,  I  tell  you,  fairly,  that  if  it  had  never 
come  at  all,  I  should  be  a  prouder,  and  a  greater,  and  a  happier 
man  than  I  have  ever  been,  or  ever  can  be,  with  all  its  advan- 
tages ;  it  has  been  a  millstone  round  my  neck.  And  yet 
EUinor  has  never  breathed  a  word  that  could  wound  my  pride. 
Would  her  daughter  be  as  forbearing?  Much  as  I  love 
Fanny,  I  doubt  if  she  has  the  great  heart  of  her  mother.  You 
look  incredulous — naturally.  Oh,  you  think  I  shall  sacrifice 
my  child's  happiness  to  a  politician's  ambition.  Folly  of  youth  ! 
Fanny  would  be  wretched  with  you.  She  might  not  think  so 
now;  she  would  five  years  hence!  Fanny  will  make  an 
admirable  duchess,  countess,  great  lady  ;  but  wife  to  a  man 
who  owes  all  to  her!  No,  no,  don't  dream  it !  I  shall  not 
sacrifice  her  happiness,  depend  on  it,  I  speak  plainly,  as  man 
to  man — man  of  the  world  to  a  man  just  entering  it — but  still 
man  to  man  !     What  say  you  ?  " 

"  I  will  think  over  all  you  tell  me.  I  know  that  you  are 
speaking  to  me  most  generously — as  a  father  would.  Now  let 
me  go,  and  may  God  keep  you  and  yours  !  " 

"  Go — 1  return  your  blessing — go  !  I  don't  insult  you  now 
with  offers  of  service  ;  but,  remember,  you  have  a  right  to 
command  them — in  all  ways,  in  all  times.  Stop  !  Take  this 
comfort  away  with  you — a  sorry  comfort  now,  a  great  one 
hereafter.  In  a  position  that  might  have  moved  anger,  scorn, 
pity,  you  have  made  a  barren-hearted  man  honor  and  admire 
you.  You,  a  boy,  have  made  me,  with  my  gray  hairs,  think 
better  of  the  whole  world  :  tell  your  father  that." 

I  closed  the  door,  and  stole  out  softly — softly.  But  when  I 
got  into  the  hall,  Fanny  suddenly  opened  the  door  of  the 
breakfast  parlor,  and  seemed,  by  her  look,  her  gesture,  to 
invite  me  in.  Her  face  was  very  pale,  and  there  were  traces 
of  tears  on  the  heavy  lids. 

I  stood  still  a  moment,  and  my  heart  beat  violently.  I  then 
muttered  something  inarticulately,  and,  bowing  low,  hastened 
to  the  door. 

I  thought,  but  my  ears  might  deceive  me,  that  I  heard  my 
name  pronounced  ;  but  fortunately  the  tall  porter  started  from 


THE   CAXTONS,  207 

his  newspaper  and  his  leathern  chair,  and  the  entrance  stood 
open.     I  joined  my  father. 

"It  is  all  over,"  said  I,  with  a  resolute  smile.  "And  now, 
my  dear  father,  1  feel  how  grateful  I  should  be  for  all  that 
your  les.sons — your  life — have  taught  me  ;  for,  believe  me,  I 
am  not  unhappy." 

CHAPTER  IV. 

We  came  back  to  my  father's  house,  and  on  the  stairs  we 
met  my  mother,  whom  Roland's  grave  looks,  and  her  Austin's 
strange  absence,  had  alarmed.  My  father  quietly  led  the  way 
to  a  little  room,  which  my  mother  had  appropriated  to  Blanche 
and  herself  ;  and  then,  placing  my  hand  in  that  which  had 
helped  his  own  steps  from  the  stony  path  down  the  quiet  vales 
of  life,  he  said  to  me  :  "Nature  gives  you  here  the  soother"; 
and,  so  saying,  he  left  the  room. 

And  it  was  true,  O  my  mother !  that  in  thy  simple,  loving 
breast  nature  did  place  the  deep  wells  of  comfort !  We  come 
to  men  for  philosophy,  to  women  for  consolation.  And  the 
thousand  weaknesses  and  regrets — the  sharp  sands  of  the 
minutiae  that  make  up  sorrow — all  these,  which  I  could  have 
betrayed  to  no  tnan — not  even  to  him,  the  dearest  and  tenderest 
of  all  men — I  showed  without  shame  to  thee  !  And  thy  tears, 
that  fell  on  my  cheek,  had  the  balm  of  Araby  ;  and  my  heart, 
at  length,  lay  lulled  and  soothed  under  thy  moist,  gentle  eyes. 

I  made  an  effort,  and  joined  the  little  circle  at  dinner  ;  and 
I  felt  grateful  that  no  violent  attempt  was  made  to  raise  my 
spirits — nothing  but  affection,  more  subdued,  and  soft,  and 
tranquil.  Even  little  Blanche,  as  if  by  the  intuition  of  sym- 
pathy, ceased  her  babble,  and  seemed  to  hush  her  footstep  as 
she  crept  to  my  side.  But  after  dinner,  when  we  had  reas- 
sembled in  the  drawing-room,  and  the  lights  shone  bright,  and 
the  curtains  were  let  down,  and  only  the  quick  roll  of  some 
passing  wheels  reminded  us  that  there  was  a  world  without, 
my  father  began  to  talk.  He  had  laid  aside  all  his  work  ;  the 
younger  but  less  perishable  child  was  forgotten — and  my 
father  began  to  talk. 

"  It  is,"  said  he  musingly,  "  a  well-known  thing  that  particu- 
lar drugs  or  herbs  suit  the  body  according  to  its  particular 
diseases.  When  we  are  ill,  we  don't  open  our  medicine-chest 
at  random,  and  take  out  any  powder  or  phial  that  comes  to 
hand.  The  skilful  doctor  is  he  who  adjusts  the  dose  to  the 
malady." 


2o8  THE   CAXTONS, 

"  Of  that  there  can  be  no  doubt,"  quoth  Captain  Roland. 
"  I  remember  a  notable  instance  of  the  justice  of  what  you  say. 
When  I  was  in  Spain,  both  my  horse  and  I  fell  ill  at  the  same 
time  ;  a  dose  was  sent  for  each ;  and,  by  some  infernal  mis- 
take, I  swallowed  the  horse's  physic,  and  the  horse,  poor  thing, 
swallowed  mine  !  " 

"  And  what  was  the  result  ?"  asked  my  father. 

"  The  horse  died  !  "  answered  Roland  mournfully — "  a  valu- 
able beast — bright  bay,  with  a  star  !  " 

"  And  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  doctor  said  it  ought  to  have  killed  me  ;  but  it 
took  a  great  deal  more  than  a  paltry  bottle  of  physic  to  kill  a 
man  in  my  regiment." 

"  Nevertheless  we  arrive  at  the  same  conclusion,"  pursued 
my  father,  "  I  with  my  theory,  you  with  your  experience — that 
the  physic  we  take  must  not  be  chosen  haphazard  ;  and  that  a 
mistake  in  the  bottle  may  kill  a  horse.  But  when  we  come  to 
the  medicine  for  the  mind,  how  little  do  we  think  of  the  golden 
rule  which  common-sense  applies  to  the  body  !  " 

"  Anan,"  said  the  Captain,  "  what  medicine  is  there  for  the 
mind  ?  Shakspeare  has  said  something  on  that  subject,  which, 
if  I  recollect  right,  implies  that  there  is  no  ministering  to  a 
mind  diseased." 

"I  think  not,  brother  ;  he  only  said  physic  (meaning boluses 
and  black  draughts)  would  not  do  it.  And  Shakspeare  was 
the  last  man  to  find  fault  with  his  own  art  ;  for,  verily,  he  has 
been  a  great  physician  to  the  mind." 

"  Ah  !  1  take  you  now,  brother — books  again  !  So  you 
think  that,  when  a  man  breaks  his  heart,  or  loses  his  fortune, 
or  his  daughter  (Blanche,  child,  come  here) — that  you  have 
only  to  clap  a  plaster  of  print  on  the  sore  place,  and  all  is  well. 
I  wish  you  would  find  me  such  a  cure." 

"  Will  you  try  it  ?  " 

"  If  it  is  not  Greek,"  said  my  uncle. 

CHAPTER  V. 

MY   father's    crotchet    ON    THE    HYGIENIC     CHEMISTRY    OF 

BOOKS. 

"  If,"  said  my  father — and  here  his  hand  was  deep  in  his 
waistcoat :  "  If  we  accept  the  authority  of  Diodorus,  as  to  the 
inscription  on  the  great  Egyptian  library — and  I  don't  see 
why  Diodorus  should  not  be  as  near  the  mark  as  any  one 
else?  "  added  my  father  interrogatively,  turning  round. 


THE   CAXTONS.  ^60 

My  mother  thought  herself  the  person  addressed,  and  nod- 
ded her  gracious  assent  to  the  authority  of  Diodorus.  His 
opinion  thus  fortified,  my  father  continued  :  "  If,  I  say,  we 
accept  the  authority  of  Diodorus,  the  inscription  on  the  Egyp- 
tian library  was:  'The  Medicine  of  the  Mind.'  Now,  that 
phrase  has  become  notoriously  trite  and  hackneyed,  and  people 
repeat  vaguely  that  books  are  the  medicine  of  the  mind. 
Yes  ;  but  to  apply  the  medicine  is  the  thing  1 " 

"  So  you  have  told  us  at  least  twice  before,  brother,"  quoted 
the  Captain  bluffly.  "  And  what  Diodorus  has  to  do  with  it, 
I  know  no  more  than  the  man  of  the  moon." 

"  I  shall  never  get  on  at  this  rate,"  said  my  father,  in  a 
tone  between  reproach  and  entreaty. 

"  Be  good  children,  Roland  and  Blanche  both,"  said  my 
mother,  stopping  from  her  work,  and  holding  up  her  needle 
threateningly — and  indeed  inflicting  a  slight  puncture  upon 
the  Captain's  shoulder. 

"  Rem  acu  tetigisti,  my  dear,"  said  my  father,  borrowing 
Cicero's  pun  on  the  occasion.*  "  And  now  we  shall  go  upon 
velvet.  I  say,  then,  that  books,  taken  indiscriminately,  are  no 
cure  to  the  diseases  and  afflictions  of  the  mind.  There  is  a 
world  of  science  necessary  in  the  taking  them.  I  have  known 
some  people  in  great  sorrow  fly  to  a  novel,  or  the  last  light 
book  in  fashion.  One  might  as  well  take  a  rose-draught  for 
the  plague  !  Light  reading  does  not  do  when  the  heart  is 
really  heavy.  I  am  told  that  Goethe,  when  he  lost  his  son, 
took  to  study  a  science  that  was  new  to  him.  Ah  !  Goethe 
was  a  physician  who  knew  what  he  was  about.  In  a  great 
grief  like  that,  you  cannot  tickle  and  divert  the  mind  ;  you 
must  wrench  it  away,  abstract,  absorb — bury  it  in  an  abyss, 
hurry  it  into  a  labyrinth.  Therefore,  for  the  immediate  sor- 
rows of  middle  life  and  old  age,  I  recommend  a  strict  chronic 
course  of  science  and  hard  reasoning  —  counter-irritation. 
Bring  the  brain  to  act  upon  the  heart !  If  science  is  too 
much  against  the  grain  (for  we  have  not  all  got  mathematical 
heads),  something  in  the  reach  of  the  humblest  understand- 
ing, but  sufficiently  searching  to  the  highest — a  new  language — 
Greek,  Arabic,  Scandinavian,  Chinese,  or  Welch !  For  the 
loss  of  fortune,  the  dose  should  be  applied  less  directly  to  the 
understanding.  I  would  administer  something  elegant  and 
cordial.  For  as  the  heart  is  crushed  and  lacerated  by  a  loss 
in  the  affections,  so  it  is  rather  the  head  that  aches  and  suffers 

*  Cicero's  joke  on  a  senator  who  was  the  son  of  a  tailor — "  Thou  hast  touched  the  thiog 
tharply  "  (or  with  a  needle — acu). 


2 to  THE   CAXTONS. 

by  the  loss  of  money.  Here  we  find  the  higher  class  of  poets 
a  very  valuable  remedy.  For  observe  that  poets  of  the  grander 
and  more  comprehensive  kind  of  genius  have  in  them  two 
separate  men,  quite  distinct  from  each  other  :  the  imaginative 
man,  and  the  practical,  circumstantial  man  ;  and  it  is  the  happy 
mixture  of  these  that  suits  diseases  of  the  mind,  half  imagina- 
tive and  half  practical.  There  is  Homer,  now  lost  with  the 
gods,  now  at  home  with  the  homeliest,  the  very  'poet  of  cir- 
cumstance,' as  Gray  has  finely  called  him ;  and  yet  with 
imagination  enough  to  seduce  and  coax  the  dullest  into  for- 
getting, for  a  while,  that  little  spot  on  his  desk  which  his 
banker's  book  can  cover.  There  is  Virgil,  far  below  him, 
indeed — 

'  Virgil  the  wise. 
Whose  verse  walks  highest,  but  not  flies,' 

as  Cowley  expresses  it.  But  Virgil  still  has  genius  enough  to 
be  two  men — to  lead  you  into  the  fields,  not  only  to  listen  to 
the  pastoral  reed,  and  to  hear  the  bees  hum,  but  to  note  how 
you  can  make  the  most  of  the  glebe  and  the  vineyard.  There 
is  Horace,  charming  man  of  the  world,  who  will  condole  with 
you  feelingly  on  the  loss  of  your  fortune,  and  by  no  means 
undervalue  the  good  things  of  this  life  ;  but  who  will  yet  show 
you  that  a  man  may  be  happy  with  a  vile  tnodicum  or  parva 
rurju.  There  is  Shakespeare,  who,  above  all  poets,  is  the 
mysterious  dual  of  hard  sense  and  empyreal  fancy — and  a 
great  many  more,  whom  I  need  not  name ;  but  who,  if  you 
take  to  them  gently  and  quietly,  will  not,  like  your  mere  phi- 
losopher, your  unreasonable  stoic,  tell  you  that  you  have  lost 
nothing ;  but  who  will  insensibly  steal  you  out  of  this  world, 
with  its  losses  and  crosses,  and  slip  you  into  another  world, 
before  you  know  where  you  are  ! — a  world  where  you  are  just 
as  welcome,  though  you  carry  no  more  earth  of  your  lost  acres 
with  you  than  covers  the  sole  of  your  shoe.  Then,  for 
hypochondria  and  satiety,  what  is  better  than  a  brisk  alter- 
ative course  of  travels — especially  early,  out-of-the-way,  mar- 
vellous, legendary  travels  !  How  they  freshen  up  the  spirits ! 
How  they  take  you  out  of  the  humdrum,  yawning  state  you 
are  in.  See,  with  Herodotus,  young  Greece  spring  up  into 
life  ;  or  note  with  him  how  already  the  wondrous  old  Orient 
world  is  crumbling  into  giant  decay ;  or  go  with  Carpini  and 
Rubruquis  to  Tartary,  meet  *  the  carts  of  Zagathai  laden  with 
houses,  and  think  that  a  great  city  is  travelling  towards  you.'  * 
Gaze  on  that  vast  wild  empire,  of  the  Tartar,  where  the  de- 

*  Rubruquis,  sect.  xiL 


1-HE  CAXTOnS.  ilt 

scendants  of  Jenghis  *  multiply  and  disperse  over  the  immense 
waste  desert,  which  is  as  boundless  as  the  ocean.'  Sail  with 
the  early  northern  discoverers,  and  penetrate  to  the  heart  of 
winter,  among  sea-serpents  and  bears,  and  tusked  morses,  with 
the  faces  of  men.  Then,  what  think  you  of  Columbus,  and 
the  stern  soul  of  Cortes,  and  the  kingdom  of  Mexico,  and  the 
strange  gold  city  of  the  Peruvians,  with  that  audacious  brute 
Pizarro  ?  And  the  Polynesians,  just  for  all  the  world  like  the 
ancient  Britons  ?  And  the  American  Indians,  and  the  South- 
Sea  Islanders?  How  petulant,  and  young,  and  adventurous, 
and  frisky  your  hypochondriac  must  get  upon  a  regimen  like 
that !  Then,  for  that  vice  of  the  mind  which  I  call  sec- 
tarianism— not  in  the  religious  sense  of  the  word,  but  little, 
narrow  prejudices,  that  make  you  hate  your  next-door  neigh- 
bor, because  he  has  his  eggs  roasted  when  you  have  yours 
boiled  ;  and  gossiping  and  prying  into  people's  affairs,  and 
backbiting,  and  thinking  heaven  and  earth  are  coming  together, 
if  some  broom  touch  a  cobweb  that  you  have  let  grow  over 
the  window-sill  of  your  brains — what  like  a  large  and  generous, 
mildly  aperient  (I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear)  course  of 
history  !  How  it  clears  away  all  the  fumes  of  the  head  ! — 
better  than  the  hellebore  with  which  the  old  leeches  of  the 
middle  ages  purged  the  cerebellum.  There,  amidst  all  that 
great  whirl  and  sturmbad  (stormbath),  as  the  Germans  say,  of 
kingdoms  and  empires,  and  races  and  ages,  how  your  mind 
enlarges  beyond  that  little,  feverish  animosity  to  John  Styles  ; 
or  that  unfortunate  prepossession  of  yours,  that  all  the  world 
is  interested  in  your  grievances  against  Tom  Stokes  and  his 
wife  ! 

"  I  can  only  touch,  you  see,  on  a  few  ingredients  in  this 
magnificent  pharmacy  :  its  resources  are  boundless,  but 
require  the  nicest  discretion.  I  remember  to  have  cured  a 
disconsolate  widower,  who  obstinately  refused  every  other 
medicament,  by  a  strict  course  of  geology.  I  dipped  him  deep 
into  gneiss  and  mica  schist.  Amidst  the  first  strata,  I  suffered 
the  watery  action  to  expend  itself  upon  cooling  crystallized 
masses  ;  and,  by  the  time  I  had  got  him  into  the  tertiary 
period,  amongst  the  transition  chalks  of  Maestricht,  and  the 
conchiferous  marls  of  Gosau,  he  was  ready  for  a  new  wife. 
Kitty,  my  dear  !  it  is  no  laughing  matter.  I  made  no  less 
notable  a  cure  of  a  young  scholar  at  Cambridge,  who  was 
meant  for  the  church,  when  he  suddenly  caught  a  cold  fit  of 
free-thinking,  with  great  shiverings,  from  wading  out  of  his 
depth  in  Spinosa.     None  of  the  divines,  whom  I  first  tried, 


Hi  THE    CAXTONS. 

did  him  the  least  good  in  that  state  ;  so  I  turned  over  a  hevt 
leaf,  and  doctored  him  gently  upon  the  chapters  of  faith  in 
Abraham  Tucker's  book  (you  should  read  it,  Sisty)  ;  then  I 
threw  in  strong  doses  of  Fichte  ;  after  that  I  put  him  on  the 
Scotch  metaphysicians,  with  plunge-baths  into  certain  German 
transcendentalists  ;  and  having  convinced  him  that  faith  is  not 
an  unphilosophical  state  of  mind,  and  that  he  might  believe 
without  compromising  his  understanding — for  he  was  mightily 
conceited  on  that  score — I  threw  in  my  divines,  which  he  was 
now  fit  to  digest ;  and  his  theological  constitution,  since  then, 
has  become  so  robust,  that  he  has  eaten  up  two  livings  and  a 
deanery !  In  fact,  I  have  a  plan  for  a  library  that,  instead  of 
heading  its  compartments, '  Philology,  Natural  Science,  Poetry,' 
etc.,  one  shall  head  them  according  to  the  diseases  for  which 
they  are  severally  good,  bodily  and  mental — up  from  a  dire 
calamity,  or  the  pangs  of  the  gout,  down  to  a  fit  of  the  spleen 
or  a  slight  catarrh  ;  for  which  last  your  light-reading  comes  in 
with  a  whey-posset  and  barley-water.  But,"  continued  my 
father,  more  gravely,  "  when  some  one  sorrow,  that  is  yet 
reparable,  gets  hold  of  your  mind  like  a  monomania  ;  when 
you  think,  because  Heaven  has  denied  you  this  or  that,  on 
which  you  had  set  your  heart,  that  all  your  life  must  be  a 
blank — oh  !  then  diet  yourself  well  on  biography — the  biogra- 
phy of  good  and  great  men.  See  how  little  a  space  one  sor- 
row really  makes  in  life.  See  scarce  a  page,  perhaps,  given  to 
some  grief  similar  to  your  own  ;  and  how  triumphantly  the  life 
sails  on  beyond  it  !  You  thought  the  wing  was  broken  !  Tut — 
tut — it  was  but  a  bruised  feather !  See  what  life  leaves 
behind  it  when  all  is  done  ! — a  summary  of  positive  facts  far 
out  of  the  region  of  sorrow  and  suffering,  linking  themselves 
with  the  being  of  the  world.  Yes,  biography  is  the  medicine 
here  !  Roland,  you  said  you  would  try  my  prescription — here 
it  is," — and  my  father  took  up  a  book,  and  reached  it  to  the 
Captain, 

My  uncle  looked  over  it :  "  Life  of  the  Reverend  Robert 
Hall."  "  Brother,  he  was  a  Dissenter,  and,  thank  Heaven  !  I 
am  a  church-and-state  man,  to  the  backbone  !  " 

"  Robert  Hall  was  a  brave  man,  and  a  true  soldier  under  the 
Great  Commander,"  said  my  father  artfully. 

The  Captain  mechanically  carried  his  forefinger  to  his  fore« 
head  in  military  fashion,  and  saluted  the  book  respectfully. 

"  I  have  another  copy  for  you,  Pisistratus — that  is  mine 
which  I  have  lent  Roland.  This,  which  I  bought  for  you 
to-day,  you  will  keep." 


THE    CAXTONS.  213 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  I  listlessly,  not  seeing  what  great 
good  the  "  Life  of  Robert  Hall  "  could  do  me,  or  why  the 
same  medicine  should  suit  the  old,  weather-beaten  uncle,  and 
the  nephew  yet  in  his  teens. 

"  I  have  said  nothing,"  resumed  my  father,  slightly  bowing 
his  broad  temples,  ''of  the  Book  of  Books,  for  that  is  the /;^«7/;« 
vit(z,  the  cardinal  medicine  for  all.  These  are  but  the  sub- 
sidiaries :  for,  as  you  may  remember,  my  dear  Kitty,  that  I 
have  said  before — we  can  never  keep  the  system  quite  right 
unless  we  place  just  in  the  centre  of  the  great  ganglionic  sys- 
tem, whence  the  nerves  carry  its  influence  gently  and  smoothly 
through  the  whole  frame — the  Saffron  Bag  !  " 

CHAPTER  VI. 

After  breakfast  the  next  morning,  I  took  my  hat  to  got  out, 
when  my  father,  looking  at  me,  and  seeing  by  my  countenance 
that  I  had  not  slept,  said  gently  : 

"  My  dear  Pisistratus,  you  have  not  tried  my  medicine  yet." 

"  What  medicine,  sir? " 

"  Robert  Hall." 

"  No,  indeed,  not  yet,"  .said  I,  smiling. 

"  Do  so,  my  son,  before  you  go  out ;  depend  on  it,  you  will 
enjoy  your  walk  more." 

I  confess  that  it  was  with  some  reluctance  I  obeyed.  I  went 
back  to  my  o\yn  room,  and  sate  resolutely  down  to  my  task. 
Are  there  any  of  you,  my  readers,  who  have  not  read  the  "  Life 
of  Robert  Hall "  ?  If  so,  in  the  words  of  the  great  Captain 
Cuttle,  *'  When  found,  make  a  note  of  it."  Never  mind  what 
your  theological  opinion  is — Episcopalian,  Presbyterian, 
Baptist,  Pgedobaptist,  Independent,  Quaker,  Unitarian,  Phi- 
losopher, Free-thinker — send  for  Robert  Hall  !  Yea,  if  there 
exist  yet  on  earth  descendants  of  the  arch-heresies,  which  made 
such  a  noise  in  their  day — men  who  believe  with  Saturninus  that 
the  world  was  made  by  seven  angels  ;  or  with  Basilides,  that 
there  are  as  many  heavens  as  there  are  days  in  the  year  ;  or 
with  the  Nicolaitanes,  that  men  ought  to  have  their  wives  in 
common  (plenty  of  that  sect  still,  especially  in  the  Red  Repub- 
lic) ;  or  with  their  successors,  the  Gnostics,  who  believed  in 
Jaldaboath  ;  or  with  the  Carpacratians,  that  the  world  was 
made  by  the  devil  ;  or  with  the  Cerinthians,  and  Ebionites, 
and  Nazarites  (which  last  discovered  that  the  name  of  Noah's 
wife  was  Ouria,  and  that  she  set  the  ark  on  fire)  ;  or  with  the 
Valentinians,  who  taught  that  there  were  thirty  ^Eones,  ages, 


314  THE   CAXTONS. 

or  worlds,  born  out  of  Profundity  (Bathos),  male,  and  Silence, 
female  ;  or  with  the  Marcites,  Colarbasii,  and  Heracleonites 
(who  still  kept  up  that  bother  about  ^ones,  Mr.  Profundity 
and  Mrs.  Silence)  ;  or  with  the  Ophites,  who  are  said  to  have 
worshipped  the  serpent ;  or  the  Cainites,  who  ingeniously 
found  out  a  reason  for  honoring  Judas,  because  he  foresaw 
what  good  would  come  to  men  by  betraying  our  Saviour  ;  or 
with  the  Sethites,  who  made  Seth  a  part  of  the  divine  sub- 
stance ;  or  with  the  Archonticks,  Ascothyptse,  Cerdonians, 
Marcionites,  the  disciples  of  Apelles,  and  Severus  (the  last  was 
a  teetotaller,  and  said  wine  was  begot  by  Satan),  or  of  Tatian, 
who  thought  all  the  descendants  of  Adam  were  irretrievably 
damned  except  themselves  (some  of  those  Tatian i  are  certainly 
extant),  or  the  Cataphrygians,  who  were  also  called  Tasco- 
dragitae,  because  they  thrust  their  forefingers  up  their  nostrils 
to  show  their  devotion  ;  or  the  Pepuzians,  Quintilians,  and 
Artotyrites  ;  or — but  no  matter.  If  I  go  through  all  the  follies 
of  men  in  search  of  the  truth,  I  shall  never  get  to  the  end  of 
my  chapter,  or  back  to  Robert  Hall  :  whatever,  then,  thou  art, 
orthodox  or  heterodox,  send  for  the  "  Life  of  Robert  Hall." 
It  is  the  life  of  a  man  that  it  does  good  to  manhood  itself  to 
contemplate. 

I  had  finished  the  biography,  which  is  not  long,  and  was 
musing  over  it,  when  I  heard  the  Captain's  cork-leg  upon  the 
stairs,  I  opened  the  door  for  him,  and  he  entered,  book  in 
hand,  as  I,  also,  book  in  hand,  stood  ready  to  receive  him. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Roland,  seating  himself,  "  has  the  prescrip- 
tion done  you  any  good  ?  " 

"  Yes,  uncle — great." 

"And  me  too.  By  Jupiter,  Sisty,  that  same  Hall  was  a  fine 
fellow  !  I  wonder  if  the  medicine  has  gone  through  the  same 
channels  in  both  ?     Tell  me,  first,  how  it  has  affected  you." 

^^  Imprimis,  then,  my  dear  uncle,  I  fancy  that  a  book  like 
this  must  do  good  to  all  who  live  in  the  world  in  the  ordinary 
manner,  by  admitting  us  into  a  circle  of  life  of  which  I  suspect 
we  think  but  little.  Here  is  a  man  connecting  himself  directly 
with  a  heavenly  purpose,  and  cultivating  considerable  faculties 
to  that  one  end  ;  seeking  to  accomplish  his  soul  as  far  as  he 
can,  that  he  may  do  most  good  on  earth,  and  take  a  higher 
existence  up  to  heaven  ;  a  man  intent  upon  a  sublime  and 
spiritual  duty :  in  short,  living  as  it  were  in  it,  and  so  filled 
with  the  consciousness  of  immortality,  and  so  strong  in  the 
link  between  God  and  man,  that,  without  any  affected  stoicism, 
without  being  insensible  to  pain — rather,  nerhaps,  from  a  nerv- 


THE   CAXTONS.  215 

ous  temperament,  acutely  feeling  it — he  yet  has  a  happiness 
wholly  independent  of  it.  It  is  impossible  not  to  be  thrilled 
with  an  admiration  that  elevates  while  it  awes  you,  in  reading 
that  solemn  '  Dedication  of  himself  to  God.'  This  offering  of 
'soul  and  body,  time,  health,  reputation,  talents,'  to  the  divine 
and  invisible  Principle  of  Good,  calls  us  suddenly  to  contem- 
plate the  selfishness  of  our  own  views  and  hopes,  and  awakens 
us  from  the  egotism  that  exacts  all  and  resigns  nothing. 

•*  But  this  book  has  mostly  struck  upon  the  chord  in  my 
own  heart,  in  that  characteristic  which  my  father  indicated  as 
belonging  to  all  biography.  Here  is  a  life  of  remarkable /«/- 
tiess,  great  study,  great  thought,  and  great  action  ;  and  yet," 
said  I,  coloring,  "how  small  a  place  those  feelings,  which  have 
tyrannized  over  me,  and  made  all  else  seem  blank  and  void, 
hold  in  that  life.  It  is  not  as  if  the  man  were  a  cold  and  hard 
ascetic  ;  it  is  easy  to  see  in  him  not  only  remarkable  tender- 
ness and  warm  affections,  but  strong  self-will,  and  the  passion 
of  all  vigorous  natures.  Yes  !  I  understand  better  now  what 
existence  in  a  true  man  should  be." 

"  All  that  is  very  well  said,"  quoth  the  Captain,  "but  it  did 
not  strike  me.  What  I  have  seen  in  this  book  is  courage. 
Here  is  a  poor  creature  rolling  on  the  carpet  with  agony  ; 
from  childhood  to  death  tortured  by  a  mysterous,  incurable 
malady — a  malady  that  is  described  as  '  an  internal  apparatus 
of  torture,'  and  who  does,  by  his  heroism,  more  than  bear  it — 
he  puts  it  out  of  power  to  affect  him  ;  and  though  (here  is  the 
passage)  *  his  appointment  by  day  and  by  night  was  incessant 
pain,  yet  high  enjoyment  was,  notwithstanding,  the  law  of  his 
existence.'  Robert  Hall  reads  me  a  lesson — me,  an  old  soldier, 
who  thought  myself  above  taking  lessons — in  courage,  at  least. 
And,  as  I  came  to  that  passage  when,  in  the  sharp  paroxysms 
before  death,  he  says  :  '  I  have  not  complained,  have  I,  sir  ? — 
and  I  won't  complain  ! ' — when  I  came  to  that  passage  I  started 
up,  and  cried,  *  Roland  de  Caxton,  thou  hast  been  a  coward  ! 
and,  an  thou  hadst  had  thy  deserts,  thou  hadst  been  cashiered, 
broken,  and  drummed  out  of  the  regiment  long  ago  ! '  " 

"  After  all,  then,  my  father  was  not  so  wrong — he  placed  his 
guns  right,  and  fired  a  good  shot." 

"  He  must  have  been  from  6°  to  g°  above  the  crest  of  the 
parapet,"  said  my  uncle  thoughtfully,  "  which,  I  take  it,  is 
the  best  elevation,  both  for  shot  and  shells,  in  enfilading  a 
work." 

"  What  say  you,  then,  Captain  ? — Up  with  our  knap.sacks, 
and  on  with  the  inarch  !  " 


2l6  THE   CAXTONS. 

"  Right  about — face  ! "  cried  my  uncle,  as  erect  as  a 
column. 

"  No  looking  back,  if  we  can  help  it." 

"  Full  in  the  front  of  the  enemy.  '  Up,  guards,  and  at 
'em!'" 

" '  England  expects  every  man  to  do  his  duty  !'  " 

"  Cypress  or  laurel  !  "  cried  my  uncle,  wavmg  the  book  over 
his  head. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

I  WENT  out — and  to  see  Francis  Vivian  ;  for,  on  leaving 
Mr.  Trevanion,  I  was  not  without  anxiety  for  my  new  friend's 
future  provision.  But  Vivian  was  from  home,  and  I  strolled 
from  his  lodgings  into  the  suburbs  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  and  began  to  meditate  seriously  on  the  best  course  now 
to  pursue.  In  quitting  my  present  occupations,  I  resigned 
prospects  far  more  brilliant,  and  fortunes  far  more  rapid,  than 
I  could  ever  hope  to  realize  in  any  other  entrance  into  life. 
But  I  felt  the  necessity,  if  I  desired  to  keep  steadfast  to  that 
more  healthful  frame  of  mind  I  had  obtained,  of  some  manly 
and  continuous  labor,  some  earnest  employment.  My  thoughts 
flew  back  to  the  university  ;  and  the  quiet  of  its  cloisters, 
which,  until  I  had  been  blinded  by  the  glare  of  the  London 
world,  and  grief  had  somewhat  dulled  the  edge  of  my  quick 
desires  and  hopes,  had  seemed  tome  cheerless  and  unaltering, 
took  an  inviting  aspect.  It  presented  what  I  needed  most,  a 
new  scene,  a  new  arena,  a  partial  return  into  boyhood  ;  repose 
for  passions  prematurely  raised  ;  activity  for  the  reasoning 
powers  in  fresh  directions.  I  had  not  lost  my  time  in  Lon- 
don :  I  had  kept  up,  if  not  studies  purely  classical,  at  least 
the  habits  of  application  ;  I  had  sharpened  my  general 
comprehension,  and  augmented  my  resources.  Accordingly, 
when  I  returned  home,  I  resolved  to  speak  to  my  father.  But 
I  found  he  had  forestalled  me  ;  and,  on  entering,  my  mother 
drew  me  upstairs  into  her  room,  with  a  smile  kindled  by  my 
smile,  and  told  me  that  she  and  her  Austin  had  been  thinking 
that  it  was  best  that  I  should  leave  London  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble ;  that  my  father  found  he  could  now  dispense  with 
the  library  6f  the  Museum  for  some  months  ;  that  the  time  for 
which  they  had  taken  their  lodgings  would  be  up  in  a  few 
days  ;  that  the  summer  was  far  advanced,  town  odious,  the 
country  beautiful — in  a  word,  we  were  to  go  home.  There  I 
could  prepare  myself  for  Cambridge,  till  the  long  vacation  was 
over  ;  and,  my  mother  added  hesitatingly,  and  with  a  puet- 


THE   CAXTONS.  217 

atory  caution  to  spare  my  he:ilth,  that  my  father,  whose 
income  could  ill  afford  the  requisite  allowance  to  me,  counted 
on  my  soon  lightening  his  burden,  by  getting  a  scholarship. 
I  felt  how  much  provident  kindness  there  was  in  all  this,  even 
in  that  hint  of  a  scholarship,  which  was  meant  to  rouse  my 
faculties,  and  spur  me,  by  affectionate  incentives,  to  a  new 
ambition.     I  was  not  less  delighted  than  grateful. 

"  But  poor  Roland,"  said  1,  "and  little  Blanche — will  they 
come  with  us  ?  " 

"  I  fear  not,"  said  my  mother,  "  for  Roland  is  anxious  to 
get  back  to  his  tower  ;  and  in  a  day  or  two,  he  will  be  well 
enough  to  move." 

"  Do  you  not  think,  my  dear  mother,  that,  somehow  or  other, 
this  lost  son  of  his  had  something  to  do  with  Roland's  illness — 
that  the  illness  was  as  much  mental  as  physicial  ?" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  Sisty.  What  a  sad,  bad  heart  that 
young  man  must  have  !  " 

"  My  uncle  seems  to  have  abandoned  all  hope  of  finding  him 
in  London  ;  otherwise,  ill  as  he  has  been,  I  am  sure  we  could 
not  have  kept  him  at  home.  So  he  goes  back  to  the  old  tower. 
Poor  man,  he  must  be  dull  enough  there  !  We  must  contrive 
to  pay  him  a  visit.     Does  Blanche  ever  speak  of  her  brother  ?" 

"  No;  for  it  seems  they  were  not  brought  up  much  together — 
at  all  events,  she  does  not  remember  him.  How  lovely  she  is  ! 
Her  mother  must  surely  have  been  very  handsome." 

"  She  is  a  pretty  child,  certainly,  though  in  a  strange  style  of 
beauty — such  immense  eyes  ! — and  affectionate,  and  loves 
Roland  as  she  ought." 

And  here  the  conversation  dropped. 

Our  plans  being  thus  decided,  it  was  necessary  that  I  should 
lose  no  time  in  seeing  Vivian,  and  making  some  arrangement 
for  the  future.  His  manner  had  lost  so  much  of  its  abruptness, 
that  I  thought  I  could  venture  to  recommend  him  personally 
to  Trevanion  ;  and  I  knew,  after  what  had  passed,  that  Tre- 
vanion  would  make  a  point  to  oblige  me.  I  resolved  to  con- 
sult my  father  about  it.  As  yet,  I  had  either  never  found,  or 
never  made  the  opportunity  to  talk  to  my  father  on  the  sub- 
ject, he  had  been  so  occupied  ;  and,  if  he  had  proposed  to  see 
my  new  friend,  what  answer  could  I  have  made,  in  the  teeth 
of  Vivian's  cynic  objections  ?  However,  as  we  were  now  going 
away,  that  last  consideration  ceased  to  be  of  importance  ;  and, 
for  the  first,  the  student  had  not  yet  entirely  settled  back  to 
his  books.  I  therefore  watched  the  time  when  my  father 
walked  down  to  the  Museum,  and,  slipping  my  arm  in  his,  I 


2l8  THE   CAXTONS. 

told  him,  briefly  and  rapidly,  as  we  went  along,  how  I  had 
formed  this  strange  acquaintance,  and  how  I  was  now  situated. 
The  story  did  not  interest  my  father  quite  so  much  as  I 
expected,  and  he  did  not  understand  all  the  complexities  of 
Vivian's  character — how  could  he? — for  he  answered  briefly : 
"  I  should  think  that,  for  a  young  man,  apparently  without  a 
sixpence,  and  whose  education  seems  so  imperfect,  any  resource 
in  Trevanion  must  be  most  temporary  and  uncertain.  Speak 
to  your  Uncle  Jack  ;  he  can  find  him  some  place,  I  have  no 
doubt — perhaps  a  readership  in  a  printer's  ofiice,  or  a  reporter's 
place  on  some  journal,  if  he  is  fit  for  it.  But  if  you  want  to 
steady  him,  let  it  be  something  regular." 

Therewith  my  father  dismissed  the  matter,  and  vanished 
through  the  gates  of  the  Museum.  Readership  to  a  printer — 
reportership  on  a  journal — for  a  young  gentleman  with  the  high 
notions  and  arrogant  vanity  of  Francis  Vivian,  his  ambition 
already  soaring  far  beyond  kid  gloves  and  a  cabriolet!  The  idea 
was  hopeless  ;  and,  perplexed  and  doubtful,  I  took  my  way  to 
Vivian's  lodgings.  I  found  him  at  home,  and  unemployed, 
standing  by  his  window,  with  folded  arms,  and  in  a  state  of 
such  revery  that  he  was  not  aware  of  my  entrance  till  I  had 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Ha  !  "  said  he  then,  with  one  of  his  short,  quick,  impatient 
sighs,  "  I  thought  you  had  given  me  up,  and  forgotten  me — 
but  you  look  pale  and  harassed.  I  could  almost  think  you  had 
grown  thinner  within  the  last  few  days." 

"  Oh  !  never  mind  me,  Vivian  :  I  have  come  to  speak  of 
yourself.  I  have  left  Trevanion  ;  it  is  settled  that  I  should  go 
to  the  university — and  we  all  quit  town  in  a  few  days." 

"  In  a  few  days  !     All ! — who  are  all?  " 

"  My  family — father,  mother,  uncle,  cousin,  and  myself. 
But,  my  dear  fellow,  now  let  us  think  seriously  what  is  best  to 
be  done  for  you.     I  can  present  you  to  Trevanion." 

"  Ha  ! " 

"  But  Trevanion  is  a  hard,  though  an  excellent  man  ;  and, 
moreover,  as  he  is  always  changing  the  subjects  that  engross 
him,  in  a  month  or  so  he  may  have  nothing  to  give  you.  You 
said  you  would  work — will  you  consent  not  to  complain  if  the 
work  cannot  be  done  in  kid  gloves  ?  Young  men  who  have 
risen  high  in  the  world  have  begun,  it  is  well  known,  as  re- 
porters to  the  press.  It  is  a  situation  of  respectability,  and  in 
request,  and  not  easy  to  obtain,  I  fancy  ;  but  still — " 

Vivian  interrupted  me  hastily  : 

♦'  Thank  you  a  thousand  times  !  but  what  you  say  confirms 


THE   CAXTONS.  21^ 

a  resolution  I  had  taken  before  you  came.  I  shall  make  it  up 
with  my  family,  and  return  home." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  so  really  glad.     How  wise  in  you  !  " 

Vivian  turned  away  his  head  abruptly  : 

"  Your  pictures  of  family  life  and  domestic  peace,  you  see," 
he  said,  "seduced  me  more  than  you  thought.  When  do  you 
leave  town  ? " 

"  Why,  I  believe,  early  next  week.  " 

"  So  soon,"  said  Vivian  thoughtfully.  "  Well,  perhaps  I 
may  ask  you  to  introduce  me  to  Mr.  Trevanion  ;  for — who 
knows  ? — my  family  and  I  may  fall  out  again.  But  I  will  con- 
sider. I  think  I  have  heard  you  say  that  this  Trevanion  is 
a  very  old  friend  of  your  father's  or  uncle's  ?  " 

"  He,  or  rather  Lady  EUinor,  is  an  old  friend  of  both." 

"And  therefore  would  listen  to  your  recommendations  of  me. 
But  perhaps  I  may  not  need  them.  So  you  have  left — left  of 
your  own  accord — a  situation  that  seemed  more  enjoyable,  I 
should  think,  than  rooms  in  a  college — left — why  did  you 
leave  ? " 

And  Vivian  fixed  his  bright  eyes  full  and  piercingly  on  mine. 

"  It  was  only  for  a  time,  for  a  trial,  that  I  was  there,"  said 
I  evasively  ;  "  out  at  nurse,  as  it  were,  till  the  Alma  Mater 
opened  her  arms — alma  indeed  she  ought  to  be  to  my  father's 
son." 

Vivian  looked  unsatisfied  with  my  explanation,  but  did  not 
question  me  farther.  He  himself  was  the  first  to  turn  the 
conversation,  and  he  did  this  with  more  affectionate  cordiality 
than  was  common  to  him.  He  inquired  into  our  general  plans, 
into  the  probabilities  of  our  return  to  town,  and  drew  from 
me  a  description  of  our  rural  Tusculum.  He  was  quiet  and 
subdued  ;  and  once  or  twice  I  thought  there  was  a  moisture 
in  those  luminous  eyes.  We  parted  with  more  of  the  unreserve 
and  fondness  of  youthful  friendship,  at  least  on  my  part,  and 
seemingly  on  his,  than  had  yet  endeared  our  singular  intimacy  ; 
for  the  cement  of  cordial  attachment  had  been  wanting  to  an 
intercourse  in  which  one  party  refused  all  confidence,  and  the 
other  mingled  distrust  and  fear  with  keen  interest  and  com- 
passionate admiration. 

That  evening,  before  lights  were  brought  in,  my  father, 
turning  to  me,  abruptly  asked  if  I  had  seen  my  friend,  and 
what  he  was  about  to  do. 

"  He  thinks  of  returning  to  his  family,"  said  I. 

Roland,  who  had  seemed  dozing,  winced  uneasily. 

"  Who  returns  to  his  family  ?  "  asked  the  Captain. 


220  THE   CAXTONS, 

"  Why,  you  must  know,"  said  my  father,  "  that  Sisty  has 
fished  up  a  friend  of  whom  he  can  give  no  account  that  would 
satisfy  a  policeman,  and  whose  fortunes  he  thinks  himself 
under  the  necessity  of  protecting.  You  are  very  lucky  that 
he  has  not  picked  your  pockets,  Sisty  ;  but  I  dare  say  he  has  ? 
What's  his  name?  " 

"  Vivian,"  said  I — "  Francis  Vivian." 

"A  good  name,  and  a  Cornish,"  said  my  father.  "  Some 
derive  it  from  the  Romans — Vivianus  ;  others  from  a  Celtic 
word,  which  means — " 

"  Vivian  !  "  interrupted  Roland — "  Vivian  !  I  wonder  if  it 
be  the  son  of  Colonel  Vivian  ?  " 

"  He  is  certainly  a  gentleman's  son,"  said  I  ;  "  but  he  never 
told  me  what  his  family  and  connections  were." 

"  Vivian,"  repeated  my  uncle — "  poor  Colonel  Vivian  !  So 
the  young  man  is  going  to  his  father.  I  have  no  doubt  it  is 
the  same. '   Ah  ! — " 

"  What  do  you  know  of  Colonel  Vivian,  or  his  son  ?  "  said 
I.     "  Pray,  tell  me,  I  am  so  interested  in  this  young  man." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  -either,  except  by  gossip,"  said  my 
uncle  moodily.  "  I  did  hear  that  Colonel  Vivian,  an  excellent 
officer  and  honorable  man,  had  been  in — in  (Roland's  voice 
faltered) — in  great  grief  about  his  son,  whom,  a  mere  boy,  he 
had  prevented  from  some  improper  marriage,  and  who  had 
run  away  and  left  him — it  was  supposed  for  America.  The 
story  affected  me  at  the  time,"  added  my  uncle,  trying  to  speak 
calmly. 

We  were  all  silent,  for  we  felt  why  Roland  was  so  disturbed, 
and  why  Colonel  Vivian's  grief  should  have  touched  him 
home.  Similarity  in  affliction  makes  us  brothers  even  to  the 
unknown. 

"You  say  he  is  going  home  to  his  family — I  am  heartily 
glad  of  it  !  "  said  the  envying  old  soldier  gallantly. 

The  lights  came  in  then,  and,  two  minutes  after,  Uncle 
Roland  and  I  were  nestled  close  to  each  other,  side  by  side  ; 
and  I  was  reading  over  his  shoulder,  and  his  finger  was  silently 
resting  on  that  passage  that  had  so  struck  him  :  "  I  have  not 
complained — have  I,  sir  ? — and  I  wont  complain  !  " 


THE    CAXTONS.  221 


PART  TENTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

My  uncle's  conjecture  as  to  the  parentage  of  Francis  Vivian 
seamed  to  me  a  positive  discovery.  Nothing  more  likely  than 
that  this  wilful  boy  had  formed  some  headstrong  attachment 
which  no  father  would  sanction,  and  so,  thwarted  and  irritated, 
thrown  himself  on  the  world.  Such  an  explanation  was  the 
more  agreeable  to  me,  as  it  cleared  up  much  that  had  ap- 
peared discreditable  in  the  mystery  that  surrounded  Vivian. 
I  could  never  bear  to  think  that  he  had  done  anything  mean 
and  criminal,  however  1  might  believe  he  had  been  rash  and 
faulty.  It  was  natural  that  the  unfriended  wanderer  should 
have  been  thrown  into  a  society,  the  equivocal  character  of 
which  had  failed  to  revolt  the  audacity  of  an  inquisitive  mind 
and  adventurous  temper;  but  it  was  natural,  also,  that  the 
habits  of  gentle  birth,  and  that  silent  education  which  English 
gentlemen  commonly  receive  from  their  very  cradle,  should 
have  preserved  his  honor,  at  least,  intact  through  all.  Cer- 
tainly the  pride,  the  notions,  the  very  faults  of  the  wellborn 
had  remained  in  full  force — why  not  the  better  qualities, 
however  smothered  for  the  time?  I  felt  thankful  for  the 
thought  that  Vivian  was  returning  to  an  element  in  which  he 
might  repurify  his  mind,  refit  himself  for  that  sphere  to  which 
he  belonged  ;  thankful  that  we  might  yet  meet,  and  our  pres- 
ent half  intimacy  mature,  perhaps,  into  healthful  friendship. 

It  was  with  such  thoughts  that  I  took  up  my  hat  the  next 
morning  to  seek  Vivian,  and  judge  if  we  had  gained  the  right 
clue,  when  we  were  startled  by  what  was  a  rare  sound  at  our 
door — the  postman's  knock.  My  father  was  at  the  Museum  ; 
my  mother  in  high  conference,  or  close  preparation  for  our 
approaching  departure,  with  Mrs.  Primmins ;  Roland,  I,  and 
Blanche  had  the  room  to  ourselves. 

"  The  letter  is  not  for  me,"  said  Pisistratus. 

"Nor  for  me,  I  am  sure,"  said  the  Captain,  when  the  servant 
entered  and  confuted  him — for  the  letter  was  for  him.  He 
took  it  up  wonderingly  and  suspiciously,  as  Glumdalclitch 
took  up  Gulliver,  or  as  (if  naturalists)  we  take  up  an  unknown 
creature,  that  we  are  not  quite  sure  will  not  bite  and  sting  us. 
Ah  !  it  has  stung  or  bit  you.  Captain  Roland  !  for  you  start 


222  THE    CAXTONS. 

and  change  color — you  suppress  a  cry  as  you  break  the  seal — ■ 
you  breathe  hard  as  you  read — and  the  letter  seems  short,  but 
it  takes  time  in  the  reading,  for  you  go  over  it  again  and 
again.  Then  you  fold  it  up,  crumple  it,  thrust  it  into  your 
breast-pocket,  and  look  round  like  a  man  waking  from  a 
dream.  Is  it  a  dream  of  pain  or  of  pleasure  ?  Verily,  I  cannot 
guess,  for  nothing  is  on  that  eagle  face  either  of  pain  or 
pleasure,  but  rather  of  fear,  agitation,  bewilderment.  Yet  the 
eyes  are  bright,  too,  and  there  is  a  smile  on  that  iron  lip. 

My  uncle  looked  round,  I  say,  and  called  hastily  for  his 
cane  and  his  hat,  and  then  began  buttoning  his  coat  across 
his  broad  breast,  though  the  day  was  hot  enough  to  have 
unbuttoned  every  breast  in  the  metropolis. 

"  You  are  not  going  out,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  But  are  you  strong  enough  yet  ?     Let  me  go  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  no.  Blanche,  come  here."  He  took  the  child 
in  his  arms,  surveyed  her  wistfully,  and  kissed  her.  "  You 
have  never  given  me  pain,  Blanche  :  say,  *  God  bless  and 
prosper  you,  father'  !  " 

"  God  bless  and  prosper  my  dear,  dear  papa  !  "  said  Blanche, 
putting  her  little  hands  together,  as  if  in  prayer. 

"  There — that  should  bring  me  luck,  Blanche,"  said  the 
Captain  gayly,  and  setting  her  down.  Then  seizing  his  cane 
from  the  servant,  and  putting  on  his  hat  with  a  determined 
air,  he  walked  stoutly  forth  ;  and  I  saw  him,  from  the  window, 
march  along  the  streets  as  cheerfully  as  if  he  had  been  besieg- 
ing Badajoz. 

"  God  prosper  thee,  too  !  "  said  I  involuntarily. 

And  Blanche  took  hold  of  my  hand,  and  said  in  her  prettiest 
way  (and  her  pretty  ways  were  many),  "  I  wish  you  would 
come  with  us.  Cousin  Sisty,  and  help  me  to  love  papa.  Poor 
papa  !  he  wants  us  both — he  wants  all  the  love  we  can  give 
him !  " 

"  That  he  does,  my  dear  Blanche  ;  and  I  think  it  a  great 
mistake  that  we  don't  all  live  together.  Your  papa  ought  not 
to  go  to  that  tower  of  his,  at  the  world's  end,  but  come  to  our 
snug,  pretty  house,  with  a  garden  full  of  flowers,  for  you  to  be 
Queen  of  the  May — from  May  to  November, — to  say  nothing 
of  a  duck  that  is  more  sagacious  than  any  creature  in  the 
Fables  I  gave  you  the  other  day." 

Blanche  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands  :  "  Oh,  that 
would  be  so  nice  !  But " — and  she  stopped  gravely,  and 
added—"  but  then,  you  see,  there  would  not  be  the  Tower  to 


THE   CAXTONS.  223 

love  papa  ;  and  I  am  sure  that  the  Tower  must  love  him  very 
much,  for  he  loves  it  dearly." 

It  was  my  turn  to  laugh  now.  "I  see  how  it  is,  you  little 
witch  !"  said  I  ;  ''you  would  coax  us  to  come  and  live  with 
you  and  the  owls  !  With  all  my  heart,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned." 

"  Sisty,"  said  Blanche,  with  an  appalling  solemnity  on  her 
face,  "do  you  know  what  I've  been  thinking?" 

"  Not  I,  miss — what  ?  Something  very  deep,  I  can  see — 
very  horrible,  indeed,  I  fear — you  look  so  serious." 

"  Why,  I've  been  thinking,  continued  Blanche,  not  relaxing 
a  muscle,  and  without  the  least  bit  of  a  blush,  "I've  been 
thinking  that  I'll  be  your  little  wife  ;  and  then,  of  course,  we 
shall  all  live  together." 

Blanche  did  not  blush,  but  I  did.  "  Ask  me  that  ten  years 
hence,  if  you  dare,  you  impudent  little  thing  ;  and  now,  run 
away  to  Mrs.  Primmins,  and  tell  her  to  keep  you  out  of  mis- 
chief, for  I  must  say  good-morning." 

But  Blanche  did  not  run  away,  and  her  dignity  seemed 
exceedingly  hurt  at  my  mode  of  taking  her  alarming  proposi- 
tion, for  she  retired  into  a  corner  pouting,  and  sat  down  with 
great  majesty.  So  there  I  left  her,  and  went  my  way  to 
Vivian.  He  was  out ;  but,  seeing  books  on  his  table,  and 
having  nothing  to  do,  I  resolved  to  wait  for  his  return.  I  had 
enough  of  my  father  in  me  to  turn  at  once  to  the  books  for 
company  ;  and,  by  the  side  of  some  graver  works  which  I  had 
recommended,  I  found  certain  novels  in  French,  that  Vivian 
had  got  from  a  circulating  library.  I  had  a  curiosity  to  read 
these,  for,  except  the  old  classic  novels  of  France,  this  mighty 
branch  of  its  popular  literature  was  then  new  to  me.  I  soon 
got  interested,  but  what  an  interest ! — the  interest  that  a  night- 
mare might  excite,  if  one  caught  it  out  of  one's  sleep,  and  set 
to  work  to  examine  it.  By  the  side  of  what  dazzling  shrewd- 
ness, what  deep  knowledge  of  those  holes  and  corners  in  the 
human  system,  of  which  Goethe  must  have  spoken  when  he 
said  somewhere  (if  I  recollect  right,  and  don't  misquote  him, 
which  I'll  not  answer  for),  "  There  is  something  in  every 
man's  heart  which,  if  we  could  know,  would  make  us  hate 
him  " — by  the  side  of  all  this,  and  of  much  more  that  showed 
prodigious  boldness  and  energy  of  intellect,  what  strange 
exaggerations,  what  mock  nobility  of  sentiment,  what  incon- 
ceivable perversion  of  reasoning,  what  damnable  demoraliza- 
tion !  The  true  artist,  whether  in  Romance  or  the  Drama, 
will  often   necessarily  interest   us  in   a  vicious  or  criminal 


224  THE   CAXTONS. 

character,  but  he  does  not  the  less  leave  clear  to  our  reproba- 
tion the  vice  or  the  crime.  But  here  I  found  myself  called 
upon  not  only  to  feel  interest  in  the  villain  (which  would  be 
perfectly  allowable — I  am  very  much  interested  in  Macbeth 
and  Lovelace),  but  to  admire  and  sympathize  with  the  villany 
itself.  Nor  was  it  the  confusion  of  all  wrong  and  right  in 
individual  character  that  shocked  me  the  most,  but  rather  the 
view  of  society  altogether,  painted  in  colors  so  hideous  that,  if 
true,  instead  of  a  revolution,  it  would  draw  down  a  deluge ;  it 
was  the  hatred,  carefully  instilled,  of  the  poor  against  the  rich  ; 
it  was  the  war  breathed  between  class  and  class ;  it  was  that 
envy  of  all  superiorities,  which  loves  to  show  itself  by  allowing 
virtue  only  to  a  blouse,  and  asserting  that  a  man  must  be  a 
rogue  if  he  belong  to  that  rank  of  society  in  which,  from  the 
very  gifts  of  education,  from  the  necessary  associations  of  cir- 
cumstance, roguery  is  the  last  thing  probable  or  natural.  It 
was  all  this,  and  things  a  thousand  times  worse,  that  set  my 
head  in  a  whirl,  as  hour  after  hour  slipped  on,  and  I  still 
gazed,  spellbound,  on  these  Chimseras  and  Typhons — these 
symbols  of  the  Destroying  Principle.  "  Poor  Vivian  !  "  said 
I,  as  I  rose  at  last, ''  if  thou  readest  these  books  with  pleasure, 
or  from  habit,  no  wonder  that  thou  seemest  to  me  so  obtuse 
about  right  and  wrong,  and  to  have  a  great  cavity  where  thy 
brain  should  have  the  bump  of  'conscientiousness'  in  fuH 
salience  !  " 

Nevertheless,  to  do  those  demoniacs  justice,  I  had  got 
through  time  imperceptibly  by  their  pestilent  help  ;  and  I  was 
startled  to  see,  by  my  watch,  how  late  it  was.  I  had  just 
resolved  to  leave  a  line  fixing  an  appointment  for  the  morrow, 
and  so  depart,  when  I  heard  Vivian's  knock — a  knock  that 
had  great  character  in  it — haughty,  impatient,  irregular  ;  not 
a  neat,  symmetrical,  harmonious,  unpretending  knock,  but  a 
knock  that  seemed  to  set  the  whole  house  and  street  at  defi- 
ance ;  it  was  a  knock  bullying — a  knock  ostentatious — a  knock 
irritating  and  offensive — ^^  impiger"  and  *'  iracutidus." 

But  the  step  that  came  up  the  stairs  did  not  suit  the  knock  ! 
It  was  a  step  light,  yet  firm  ;  slow,  yet  elastic. 

The  maid-servant  who  had  opened  the  door  had,  no  doubt, 
informed  Vivian  of  my  visit,  for  he  did  not  seem  surprised  to 
,see  me  ;  but  he  cast  that  hurried,  suspicious  look  round  the 
room  which  a  man  is  apt  to  cast  when  he  has  left  his  papers 
about,  and  finds  some  idler,  on  whose  trustworthiness  he  by 
no  means  depends,  seated  in  the  midst  of  the  unguarded  secrets. 
The  look  was  not  flattering  ;  but  my  conscience  Wfts  so  unre- 


THE    CAXTONS,  325 

proachful  that  I  laid  all  the  blame  upon  the  general  suspicious- 
ness of  Vivian's  character. 

"  Three  hours,  at  least,  have  I  been  here  ! "  said  I  mali' 
ciously. 

"  Three  hours  !  " — again  the  look. 

"  And  this  is  the  worst  secret  I  have  discovered," — and  I 
pointed  to  those  literary  Manicheans. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  he  carelessly,  "  French  novels  !  I  don't 
wonder  you  stayed  so  long.  I  can't  read  your  English  novels — • 
flat  and  insipid  :  there  are  truth  and  life  here." 

"  Truth  and  life  !  "  cried  I,  every  hair  on  my  head  erect 
with  astonishment  ;  "  Then  hurrah  for  falsehood  and 
death  !  " 

"  They  don't  please  you  ;  no  accounting  for  tastes." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — I  account  for  yours,  if  you  really  take 
for  truth  and  life  monsters  so  nefast  and  flagitious.  For 
heaven's  sake,  my  dear  fellow,  don't  suppose  that  any  man 
could  get  on  in  England — get  anywhere  but  to  the  Old  Bailey 
or  Norfolk  Island,  if  he  squared  his  conduct  to  such  topsy- 
turvy notions  of  the  world  as  I  find  here." 

"  How  many  years  are  you  my  senior  ? "  asked  Vivian  sneer- 
ingly,  "  that  you  should  play  the  mentor,  and  correct  my  igno- 
rance of  the  world  ?" 

"  Vivian,  it  is  not  age  and  experience  that  speak  here,  it  is 
something  far  wiser  than  they — the  instinct  of  a  man's  heart, 
and  a  gentleman's  honor." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Vivian,  rather  discomposed,  "  let  the  poor 
books  alone  ;  you  know  my  creed — that  books  influence  us  lit- 
tle one  way  or  the  other." 

"  By  the  great  Egyptian  library,and  the  soul  of  Diodorus  ! 
I  wish  you  could  hear  my  father  upon  that  point.  Come," 
added  I,  with  sublime  compassion  ;  "  Come,  it  is  not  too  late — 
do  let  me  introduce  you  to  my  father.  I  will  consent  to  read 
French  novels  all  my  life,  if  a  single  chat  with  Austin  Caxton 
does  not  send  you  home  with  a  happier  face  and  a  lighter 
heart.     Come,   let  me  take  you  back  to  dine  with  us  to-day." 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Vivian,  with  some  confusion  ;  "  I  cannot, 
for  this  day  I  leave  London.  Some  other  time  perhaps — for," 
he  added,  but  not  heartily,  "  we  may  meet  again." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  I,  wringing  his  hand,  "  and  that  is  likely  ; 
since,  in  spite  of  yourself,  I  have  guessed  your  secret — your 
birth  and  parentage." 

"  How  !  "  cried  Vivian,  turning  pale,  and  gnawing  his  lip  ; 
"What  do  you  mean  ? — speak." 


226  THE    CAXTONS, 

"  Well  then,  are  you  not  the  lost,  runaway  son  of  Colonel 
Vivian  ?     Come,  say  the  truth  ;  let  us  be  confidants." 

Vivian  threw  off  a  succession  of  his  abrupt  sighs  ;  and  then, 
seating  himself,  leant  his  face  on  the  table,  confused,  no  doubt, 
to  find  himself  discovered. 

"  You  are  near  the  mark,"  said  he  at  last,  "  but  do  not  ask 
me  farther  yet.  Some  day,"  he  cried  impetuously,  and  spring- 
ing suddenly  to  his  feet ;  "  Some  day  you  shall  know  all  :  yes  ; 
some  day,  if  I  live,  when  that  name  shall  be  high  in  the  world  ; 
yes,  when  the  world  is  at  my  feet  !  "  He  stretched  his  right 
hand  as  if  to  grasp  the  space,  and  his  whole  face  was  lighted 
with  a  fierce  enthusiasm.  The  glow  died  away,  and  with  a 
slight  return  of  his  scornful  smile,  he  said  :  "  Dreams  yet ; 
dreams  !  And  now,  look  at  this  paper."  And  he  drew  out  a 
memoranda,  scrawled  over  with  figures. 

"  This,  I  think,  is  my  pecuniary  debt  to  you  ;  in  a  few  days, 
I  shall  discharge  it.     Give  me  your  address." 

"  Oh  !"  said  I,  pained,  "  can  you  speak  to  me  of  money, 
Vivian  ?  " 

"  It  is  one  of  those  instincts  of  honor  you  cite  so  often," 
answered  he,  coloring.     "  Pardon  me." 

"  That  is  my  address,"  said  I,  stooping  to  write,  in  order  to 
conceal  my  wounded  feelings.  "  You  will  avail  yourself  of  it, 
I  hope,  often,  and  tell  me  that  you  are  well  and  happy." 

"  When  I  am  happy  you  shall  know." 

"  You  do  not  require  any  introduction  to  Trevanion  ?" 

Vivian  hesitated  :  "  No,  I  think  not.  If  ever  I  do,  I  will 
write  for  it." 

I  took  up  my  hat,  and  was  about  to  go,  for  I  was  still  chilled 
and  mortified,  when,  as  if  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  Vivian 
came  to  me  hastily,  flung  his  arms  round  my  neck,  and  kissed 
me  as  a  boy  kisses  his  brother. 

"  Bear  with  me  !  "  he  cried  in  a  faltering  voice  :  "  I  did 
not  think  to  love  any  one  as  you  have  made  me  love  you, 
though  sadly  against  the  grain.  If  you  are  not  my  good 
angel,  it  is  that  nature  and  habit  are  too  strong  for  you.  Cer- 
tainly, some  day  we  shall  meet  again.  I  shall  have  time,  in 
the  mean  while,  to  see  if  the  world  can  be  indeed  '  mine  oyster, 
which  I  with  sword  can  open.'  I  would  be  aut  CcBsar  aut 
nullus !  Very  little  other  Latin  know  I  to  quote  from  !  If 
Caesar,  men  will  forgive  me  all  the  means  to  the  end  ;  if  nullus^ 
London  has  a  river,  and  in  every  street  one  may  buy  a  cord  !  " 

"  Vivian  !     Vivian  !  " 

**  Now  go,  my  dear  friend,  while  my  heart  is  softened — go, 


THE    CAXTONS.  227 

before  I  shock  you  with  some  return  of  the  native  Adam. 
Go— go  !  •' 

And  taking  me  gently  by  the  arm,  Francis  Vivian  drew  me 
from  the  room,  and,  re-entering,  locked  his  door. 

Ah  !  if  I  could  have  left  him  Robert  Hall,  instead  of  those 
execrable  Typhons  !  But  would  that  medicine  have  suited 
his  case,  or  must  grim  Experience  write  sterner  prescriptions 
with  iron  hand  ? 

CHAPTER  II. 

When  I  got  back,  just  in  time  for  dinner,  Roland  had  not 
returned,  nor  did  he  return  till  late  in  the  evening.  All  our 
eyes  were  directed  towards  him,  as  we  rose  with  one  accord  to 
give  him  welcome  ;  but  his  face  was  like  a  mask — it  was 
locked,  and  rigid,  and  unreadable. 

Shutting  the  door  carefully  after  him,  he  came  to  the  hearth, 
stood  on  it,  upright  and  calm,  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
asked  : 

"  Has  Blanche  gone  to  bed  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  my  mother,  "  but  not  to  sleep,  I  am  sure  ;  she 
made  me  promise  to  tell  her  when  you  came  back." 

Roland's  brow  relaxed. 

"  To-morrow,  sister,"  said  he  slowly,  "  will  you  see  that  she 
has  the  proper  mourning  made  for  her  ?     My  son  is  dead." 

"  Dead  !  "  we  cried  with  one  voice,  and  surrounding  him 
with  one  impulse. 

"  Dead  ?  Impossible — you  could  not  say  it  so  calmly. 
Dead — how  do  you  know  ?  You  may  be  deceived.  Who  told 
you  ?     Why  do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  his  remains,"  said  my  uncle,  with  the  same 
gloomy  calm.  "  We  will  all  mourn  for  him.  Pisistratus,  you 
are  heir  to  my  name  now,  as  to  your  father's.  Good-night  ; 
excuse  me,  all — all  you  dear  and  kind  ones  ;  I  am  worn  out." 

Roland  lighted  his  candle  and  went  away,  leaving  us  thun- 
der-struck ;  but  he  came  back  again — looked  round — took  up 
his  book,  open  in  the  favorite  passage — nodded  again,  and 
again  vanished.  We  looked  at  each  other  as  if  we  had  seen  a 
ghost.  Then  my  father  rose  and  went  out  of  the  room,  and 
remained  in  Roland's  till  the  night  was  well  nigh-gone  !  We 
sat  up — my  mother  and  I — till  he  returned.  His  benign  face 
looked  profoundly  sad. 

"  How  is  it,  sir  ?     Can  you  tell  us  more  ? " 

My  father  shook  his  head. 


228  THE    CAXTONS. 

"  Roland  prays  that  you  may  preserve  the  same  forebearance 
you  have  shown  hitherto,  and  never  mention  his  son's  name  to 
him.  Peace  be  to  the  Hving,  as  to  the  dead.  Kitty,  this 
changes  our  plans  ;  we  must  all  go  to  Cumberland — we  cannot 
leave  Roland  thus  !  " 

"  Poor,  poor  Roland  !  "  said  my  mother  through  her  tears. 
*'  And  to  think  that  father  and  son  were  not  reconciled.  But 
Roland  forgives  him  now — oh  yes  ;  now  !  " 

"  It  is  not  Roland  we  can  censure,"  said  my  father,  almost 
fiercely  ;  "  it  is — but  enough.  We  must  hurry  out  of  town  as 
soon  as  we  can  :  Roland  will  recover  in  the  native  air  of  his 
old  ruins." 

We  went  up  to  bed  mournfully.  "  And  so,"  thought  I,  "  ends 
one  grand  object  of  my  life  ! — I  had  hoped  to  have  brought 
those  two  together.  But,  alas  !  what  peacemaker  like  the 
grave  !  " 

CHAPTER  III. 

My  uncle  did  not  leave  his  room  for  three  days,  but  he  was 
much  closeted  with  a  lawyer  ;  and  my  father  dropped  some 
words  which  seemed  to  imply  that  the  deceased  had  incurred 
debts,  and  that  the  poor  Captain  w^as  making  some  charge  on 
his  small  property.  As  Roland  had  said  that  he  had  seen  the 
remains  of  his  son,  I  took  it,  at  first,  for  granted  that  we  should 
attend  a  funeral,  but  no  word  of  this  was  said.  On  the  fourth 
day,  Roland,  in  deep  mourning,  entered  a  hackney  coach  with 
the  lawyer,  and  was  absent  about  two  hours.  I  did  not  doubt 
that  he  had  thus  quietly  fulfilled  the  last  mournful  offices.  On 
his  return,  he  shut  himself  up  again  for  the  rest  of  the  day, 
and  would  not  see  even  my  father.  But  the  next  morning  he 
made  his  appearance  as  usual,  and  I  even  thought  that  he 
seemed  more  cheerful  than  I  had  yet  known  him — whether  he 
played  a  part,  or  whether  the  worst  was  now  over,  and  the 
grave  was  less  cruel  than  uncertainty.  On  the  following  day, 
we  all  set  out  for  Cumberland. 

In  the  interval.  Uncle  Jack  had  been  ?ilmost  constantly  at 
the  house,  and,  to  do  him  justice,  he  had  seemed  unaffectedly 
shocked  at  the  calamity  that  had  befallen  Roland.  There  was, 
indeed,  no  want  of  heart  in  Uncle  Jack,  whenever  you  went 
straight  at  it  ;  but  it  was  had  to  find  if  you  took  a  circuitous 
route  towards  it  through  the  pockets.  The  worthy  speculator 
had  indeed  much  business  to  transact  with  my  father  before  he 
left  town.     The  Anti-Publisher  Society  had  been  set  up,  and 


THE   CAXTONS.  229 

it  was  through  the  obstetric  aid  of  that  fraternity  that  the  Great 
Book  was  to  be  ushered  into  the  world.  The  new  journal,  the 
Literary  Titnes^  was  also  far  advanced — not  yet  out,  but  my 
father  was  fairly  in  for  it.  There  were  preparations  for  its 
debut  on  a  vast  scale,  and  two  or  three  gentlemen  in  black — 
one  of  whom  looked  like  a  lawyer,  and  another  like  a  printer, 
and  a  third  uncommonly  like  a  Jew — called  twice,  with  papers 
of  a  very  formidable  aspect.  AH  these  preliminaries  settled, 
the  last  thing  I  heard  Uncle  Jack  say,  with  a  slap  on  my 
father's  back,  was  :  "  Fame  and  fortune  both  made  now  ! — 
you  may  go  to  sleep  in  safety,  for  you  leave  me  wide  awake. 
Jack  Tibbets  never  sleeps !  " 

I  had  thought  it  strange  that,  since  my  abrupt  exodus  from 
Trevanion's  house,  no  notice  had  been  taken  of  any  of  us  by 
himself  or  Lady  EUinor.  But  on  the  very  eve  of  our  depart- 
ure, came  a  kind  note  from  Trevanion  to  me,  dated  from  his 
favorite  country  seat  (accompanied  by  a  present  of  some  rare 
books  to  my  father),  in  which  he  said  briefly  that  there  had 
been  illness  in  his  family,  which  had  obliged  him  to  leave  town 
for  a  change  of  air,  but  that  Lady  EUinor  expected  to  call  on 
my  mother  the  next  week.  He  had  found  amongst  his  books 
some  curious  works  of  the  Middle  Ages,  amongst  others  a 
complete  set  of  Cardan,  which  he  knew  my  father  would  like 
to  have,  and  so  sent  them.  There  was  no  allusion  to  what  had 
passed  between  us. 

In  reply  to  this  note,  after  due  thanks  on  my  father's  part, 
who  seized  upon  the  Cardan  (Lyons  edition,  1663,  ten  volumes 
folio)  as  a  silkworm  does  upon  a  mulberry-leaf,  I  expressed 
our  joint  regrets  that  there  was  no  hope  of  our  seeing  Lady 
EUinor,  as  we  were  just  leaving  town.  I  should  have  added 
something  on  the  loss  my  uncle  had  sustained,  but  my  father 
thought  that,  since  Roland  shrank  from  any  mention  of  his 
son,  even  by  his  nearest  kindred,  it  would  be  his  obvious  wish 
not  to  parade  his  affliction  beyond  that  circle. 

And  there  had  been  illness  in  Trevanion's  family  !  On 
whom  had  it  fallen?  I  could  not  rest  satisfied  with  that 
general  expression,  and  I  took  my  answer  myself  to  Tre- 
vanion's house,  instead  of  sending  it  by  the  post.  In  reply  to 
my  inquiries,  the  porter  said  that  all  the  family  were  expected 
at  the  end  of  the  week  ;  that  he  had  heard  both  Lady  EUinor 
and  Miss  Trevanion  had  been  rather  poorly,  but  that  they  were 
now  better.  I  left  my  note  with  orders  to  forward  it ;  and  my 
wounds  bled  afresh  as  I  came  away. 

We  had  the  whole  coach  to  ourselves  in  our  journey,  and  a 


230  THE   CAXTONS. 

silent  journey  it  was,  till  we  arrived  at  a  little  town  about  eight 
miles  from  my  uncle's  residence,  to  which  we  could  only  get 
through  a  cross-road.  My  uncle  insisted  on  preceding  us  that 
night,  and,  though  he  had  written,  before  we  started,  to 
announce  our  coming,  he  was  fidgety  lest  the  poor  tower  should 
not  make  the  best  figure  it  could  ;  so  he  went  alone,  and  we 
took  our  ease  at  our  inn. 

Betimes  the  next  day  we  hired  a  fly-coach — for  a  chaise 
could  never  have  held  us  and  my  father's  books — and  jogged 
through  a  labyrinth  of  villanous  lanes,  which  no  Marshal  Wade 
had  ever  reformed  from  their  primal  chaos.  But  poor  Mrs. 
Primmins  and  the  canary-bird  alone  seemed  sensible  of  the 
jolts  ;  the  former,  who  sat  opposite  to  us,  wedged  amidst  a 
medley  of  packages,  all  marked  "  Care,  to  be  kept  top  upper- 
most "  (why  I  know  not,  for  they  were  but  books,  and  whether 
they  lay  top  or  bottom  it  could  not  materially  affect  their  value), 
the  former,  I  say,  contrived  to  extend  her  arms  over  those 
disjecta  membra,  and,  griping  a  window-sill  with  the  right  hand, 
and  a  window-sill  with  the  left,  kept  her  seat  rampant,  like  the 
split  eagle  of  the  Austrian  Empire — in  fact,  it  would  be  well, 
nowadays,  if  the  split  eagle  were  as  firm  as  Mrs.  Primmins  ! 
As  for  the  canary,  it  never  failed  to  respond,  by  an  astonished 
chirp,  to  every  "  Gracious  me  !  "  and  "  Lord  save  us  ! "  which 
the  delve  into  a  rut,  or  the  bump  out  of  it,  sent  forth  from  Mrs. 
Primmins's  lips,  with  all  the  emphatic  dolor  of  the  Ai^  ai, 
in  a  Greek  chorus. 

But  my  father,  with  his  broad  hat  over  his  brows,  was  in 
deep  thought.  The  scenes  of  his  youth  were  rising  before 
him,  and  his  memory  went,  smooth  as  a  spirit's  wing,  over 
delve  and  bump.  And  my  mother,  who  sat  next  him,  had  her 
arm  on  his  shoulder,  and  was  watching  his  face  jealously.  Did 
she  think  that,  in  that  thoughtful  face,  there  was  regret  for  the 
old  love  ?  Blanche,  who  had  been  very  sad,  and  had  wept 
much  and  quietly  since  they  put  on  her  the  mourning,  and  told 
her  that  she  had  no  brother  (though  she  had  no  remembrance 
of  the  lost),  began  now  to  evince  infantine  curiosity  and  eager- 
ness to  catch  the  first  peep  of  her  father's  beloved  tower. 
And  Blanche  sat  on  my  knee,  and  I  shared  her  impatience. 
At  last  there  came  in  view  a  church  spire — a  church — a  plain, 
square  building  near  it,  the  parsonage  (my  father's  old  home) — 
a  long  straggling  street  of  cottages  and  rude  shops,  with  a 
better  kind  of  house  here  and  there— and  in  the  hinder  ground, 
a  gray,  deformed  mass  of  wall  and  ruin,  placed  on  one  of  those 
eminences  on  which  the  Danes  loved  to  pitch  camp  or  build 


THE   CAXTONS.  23I 

fort,  with  one  high,  rude,  Anglo-Norman  tower  rising  from  the 
midst.  Few  trees  were  round  it,  and  those  either  poplars  or 
firs,  save,  as  we  approached,  one  mighty  oak — integral  and 
unscathed.  The  road  now  wound  behind  the  parsonage,  and 
up  a  steep  ascent.  Such  a  road  ! — the  whole  parish  ought  to 
have  been  flogged  for  it !  If  I  had  sent  up  a  road  like  that, 
even  on  a  map,  to  Dr.  Herman,  I  should  not  have  sat  down  in 
comfort  for  a  week  to  come  ! 

The  fly-coach  came  to  a  full  stop. 

"  Let  us  get  out,"  cried  I,  opening  the  door,  and  springing 
to  the  ground  to  set  the  example. 

Blanche  followed,  and  my  respected  parents  came  next. 
But  when  Mrs.  Primmins  was  about  to  heave  herself  into 
movement, 

"  I'apce  /  "  said  my  father.  "  I  think,  Mrs.  Primmins,  you 
must  remain  in,  to  keep  the  books  steady." 

"  Lord  love  you  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Primmins,  aghast. 

"  The  subtraction  of  such  a  mass,  or  mo/es — supple  and 
elastic  as  all  flesh  is,  and  fitting  into  the  hard  corners  of  the 
inert  matter — such  a  subtraction,  Mrs.  Primmins,  would  leave 
a  vacuum  which  no  natural  system,  certainly  no  artificial 
organization,  could  sustain.  There  would  be  a  regular  dance 
of  atoms,  Mrs.  Primmins  ;  my  books  would  fly  here,  there,  on 
the  floor,  out  of  the  window  ! 

"  Corporis  officium  est  quoniam  omnia  deorsum." 

The  business  of  a  body  like  yours,  Mrs.  Primmins,  is  to  press 
all  things  down — to  keep  them  tight,  as  you  will  know  one  of 
these  days — that  is,  if  you  will  do  me  the  favor  to  read 
Lucretius,  and  master  that  material  philosophy,  of  which  I 
may  say,  without  flattery,  my  dear  Mrs.  Primmins,  that  you 
are  a  living  illustration." 

These,  the  first  words  my  father  had  spoken  since  we  set 
out  from  the  inn,  seemed  to  assure  my  mother  that  she  need 
have  no  apprehension  as  to  the  character  of  his  thoughts,  for 
her  brow  cleared,  and  she  said,  laughing  : 

•*  Only  look  at  poor  Primmins,  and  then  at  that  hill ! " 

"  You  may  subtract  Primmins,  if  you  will  be  answerable  for 
the  remnant,  Kitty.  Only,  I  warn  you,  that  it  is  against  all 
the  laws  of  physics." 

So  saying,  he  sprang  lightly  forward,  and,  taking  hold  of 
my  arm,  paused  and  looked  round,  and  drew  the  loud,  free 
breath  with  which  we  draw  native  air. 

"  And  yet,"  said  my  father,  after  that  grateful  and  affec- 


23a  THE   CAXTONS. 

tionate  inspiration  :  "  And  yet,  it  must  be  owned,  that  a  more 
ugly  country  one  cannot  see  out  of  Cambridgeshire."  * 

*'  Nay,"  said  I,  "it  is  bold  and  large  ;  it  has  a  beauty  of  its 
own.  Those  immense,  undulating,  uncultivated,  treeless  tracts 
have  surely  their  charm  of  wildness  and  solitude  !  And  how 
they  suit  the  character  of  the  ruin  !  All  is  feudal  there  !  I 
understand  Roland  better  now." 

"  I  hope  to  Heaven  Cardan  will  come  to  no  harm  !  "  cried 
my  father  ;  "  he  is  very  handsomely  bound  ;  and  he  fitted 
beautifully  just  into  the  fleshiest  part  of  that  fidgety  Prim- 
mins." 

Blanche,  meanwhile,  had  run  far  before  us,  and  I  followed 
fast.  There  were  still  the  remains  of  that  deep  trench  (sur- 
rounding the  ruins  on  three  sides,  leaving  a  ragged  hill-top  at 
the  fourth)  which  made  the  favorite  fortification  of  all  the 
Teutonic  tribes.  A  causeway,  raised  on  brick  arches,  now, 
however,  supplied  the  place  of  the  drawbridge,  and  the  outer 
gate  was  but  a  mass  of  picturesque  ruin.  Entering  into  the 
courtyard  or  bailey,  the  old  castle  mound,  from  which  justice 
had  been  dispensed,  was  in  full  view,  rising  higher  than  the 
broken  walls  around  it,  and  partially  overgrown  with  brambles. 
And  there  stood,  comparatively  whole,  the  Tower  or  Keep, 
and  from  its  portals  emerged  the  veteran  owner. 

His  ancestors  might  have  received  us  in  more  state,  but 
certainly  they  could  not  have  given  us  a  warmer  greeting.  In 
fact,  in  his  own  domain,  Roland  appeared  another  man.  His 
stiffness,  which  was  a  little  repulsive  to  those  who  did  not 
understand  it,  was  all  gone.  He  seemed  less  proud,  precisely 
because  he  and  his  pride,  on  that  ground,  were  on  good  terms 
with  each  other.  How  gallantly  he  extended — not  his  arm,  in 
our  modern  Jack-and-Jill  sort  of  fashion — but  his  right  hand 
to  my  mother  ;  how  carefully  he  led  her  over  "  brake,  bush, 
and  scaur,"  through  the  low  vaulted  door,  where  a  tall  servant, 
who,  it  was  easy  to  see,  had  been  a  soldier — in  the  precise 
livery,  no  doubt,  warranted  by  the  heraldic  colors  (his  stock- 
ings were  red  !) — stood  upright  as  a  sentry.  And,  coming 
into  the  hall,  it  looked  absolutely  cheerful — it  took  us  by 
surprise.  There  was  a  great  fireplace,  and,  though  it  was  still 
summer,  a  great  fire  !  It  did  not  seem  a  bit  too  much,  for  the 
walls  were  stone,  the  lofty  roof  open  to  the  rafters,  while  the 
windows  were  small  and  narrow,  and  so  high  and  so  deep 
sunk  that  one  seemed  in  a  vault.     Nevertheless,  1  say  the 

*  This  certainly  cannot  be  said  of  Cumberland  generally,  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
counties  in  Great  Britain.  But  the  immediate  district  to  which  Mr.  Caxton's  exclamation 
fefers,  if  not  ugly,  is  at  least  savage,  bare,  and  rude. 


THE   CAXTONS.  »$$ 

room  looked  sociable  and  cheerful,  thanks  principally  to  the 
fire,  and  partly  to  a  very  ingenious  medley  of  old  tapestry  at 
one  end,  and  matting  at  the  other,  fastened  to  the  lower  part, 
of  the  walls,  seconded  by  an  arrangement  of  furniture  which 
did  credit  to  my  uncle's  taste  for  the  picturesque.  After  we 
had  looked  about  and  admired  to  our  heart's  content,  Roland 
took  us — not  up  one  of  those  noble  staircases  you  see  in  the 
latter  manorial  residences,  but  a  little  winding  stone  stair, 
into  the  rooms  he  had  appropriated  to  his  guests.  There  was 
first  a  small  chamber,  which  he  called  my  father's  study  ;  in 
truth,  it  would  have  done  for  any  philosopher  or  saint  who 
wished  to  shut  out  the  world,  and  might  have  passed  for  the 
interior  of  such  a  column  as  the  Stylites  inhabited  ;  for  you 
must  have  climbed  a  ladder  to  have  looked  out  of  the  window, 
and  then  the  vision  o'f  no  short-sighted  man  could  have  got 
over  the  interval  in  the  wall  made  by  the  narrow  casement, 
which,  after  all,  gave  no  other  prospect  than  a  Cumberland 
sky,  with  an  occasional  rook  in  it.  But  my  father,  I  think  I 
have  said  before,  did  not  much  care  for  scenery,  and  he  looked 
round  with  great  satisfaction  upon  the  retreat  assigned  him. 

"We  can  knock  up  shelves  for  your  books  in  no  time,"  said 
my  uncle,  rubbing  his  hands. 

"  It  would  be  a  charity,"  quoth  my  father,  "  for  they  have 
been  very  long  in  a  recumbent  position,  and  would  like  to 
stretch  themselves,  poor  things.  My  dear  Roland,  this  room 
is  made  for  books — so  round  and  so  deep.  I  shall  sit  here  like 
Truth  in  a  well." 

"  And  there  is  a  room  for  you,  sister,  just  out  of  it,"  said  my 
uncle,  opening  a  little,  low,  prison-like  door  into  a  charming 
room,  for  its  window  was  low,  and  it  had  an  iron  balcony  ; 
"  and  out  of  that  is  the  bedroom.  For  you,  Pisistratus,  my 
boy,  I  am  afraid  that  it  is  soldier's  quarters,  indeed,  with  which 
you  will  have  to  put  up.  But  never  mind  ;  in  a  day  or  two 
we  shall  make  all  worthy  a  general  of  your  illustrious  name — 
for  he  was  a  great  general,  Pisistratus  the  First,  was  he  not, 
brother  ?  " 

"  All  tyrants  are,"  said  my  father  :  "  the  knack  of  soldiering 
is  indispensable  to  them." 

"  Oh,  you  may  say  what  you  please  here  !  "  said  Roland,  in 
high  good-humor,  as  he  drew  me  downstairs,  still  apologizing 
for  my  quarters,  and  so  earnestly  that  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  was  to  be  put  into  an  oubliette.  Nor  were  my  suspicions 
much  dispelled  on  seeing  that  we  had  to  leave  the  keep, 
and  pick  our  way  into  what  seemed  to  me  a  mere  heap  of  rub- 


234  THE   CAXTONS. 

bish,  on  the  dexter  side  of  the  court.  But  I  was  agreeably 
surprised  to  find,  amidst  these  wrecks,  a  room  with  a  noble 
casement,  commanding  the  whole  country,  and  placed  imme- 
diately over  a  plot  of  ground  cultivated  as  a  garden.  The 
furniture  was  ample,  though  homely  ;  the  floors  and  walls  well 
matted  ;  and,  altogether,  despite  the  inconvenience  of  having 
to  cross  the  courtyard  to  get  to  the  rest  of  the  house,  and  being 
wholly  without  the  modern  luxury  of  a  bell,  I  thought  that  I 
could  not  be  better  lodged. 

"  But  this  is  a  perfect  bower,  my  dear  uncle  !  Depend  on  it, 
it  was  the  bower-chamber  of  the  Dames  de  Caxton — heaven 
rest  them  ! " 

"  No,"  said  my  uncle  gravely  ;  "  I  suspect  it  must  have  been 
the  chaplain's  room,  for  the  chapel  was  to  the  right  of  you. 
An  earlier  chapel,  indeed,  formerly  existed  in  the  keep  tower — 
for,  indeed,  it  is  scarcely  a  true  keep  without  chapel,  well,  and 
hall.  I  can  show  you  part  of  the  roof  of  the  first,  and  the  two 
last  are  entire  ;  the  well  is  very  curious,  formed  in  the  sub- 
stance of  the  wall  at  one  angle  of  the  hall.  In  Charles  the 
First's  time,  our  ancestor  lowered  his  only  son  down  in  a 
bucket,  and  kept  him  there  six  hours,  while  a  Malignant  mob 
was  storming  the  tower.  I  need  not  say  that  our  ancestor 
himself  scorned  to  hide  from  such  a  rabble,  for  he  was  a  grown 
man.  The  boy  lived  to  be  a  sad  spendthrift,  and  used  the 
well  for  cooling  his  wine.  He  drank  up  a  great  many  good 
acres." 

"  I  should  scratch  him  out  of  the  pedigree,  if  I  were  you. 
But,  pray,  have  you  not  discovered  the  proper  chamber  of 
that  great  Sir  William,  about  whom  my  father  is  so  shamefully 
skeptical  ? " 

"  To  tell  you  a  secret,"  answered  the  Captain,  giving  me  a 
sly  poke  in  the  ribs,  "  I  have  put  your  father  into  it !  There 
are  the  initial  letters  W.  C.  let  into  the  cusp  of  the  York  rose, 
and  the  date,  three  years  before  the  battle  of  Bosworth,  over 
the  chimneypiece." 

I  could  not  help  joining  my  uncle's  grim,  low  laugh  at  this 
characteristic  pleasantry ;  and  after  I  had  complimented  him 
him  on  so  judicious  a  mode  of  proving  his  point,  I  asked  him 
how  he  could  possibly  have  contrived  to  fit  up  the  ruin  so  well, 
especially  as  he  had  scarcely  visited  it  since  his  purchase. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "some  years  ago,  that  poor  fellow  you  now 
see  as  my  servant,  and  who  is  gardener,  bailiff,  seneschal, 
butler,  and  anything  else  you  can  put  him  to,  was  sent  out  of 
the  army  on  the  invalid  list.     So  I  placed  him  here  ;  and  as 


THE   CAXTONS.  235 

he  is  a  capital  carpenter,  and  has  had  a  very  fair  education,  I 
told  him  what  I  wanted,  and  put  by  a  small  sum  every  year 
for  repairs  and  furnishing.  It  is  astonishing  how  little  it  costs 
me  ;  for  Bolt,  poor  fellow  (that  is  his  name),  caught  the  right 
spirit  of  the  thing,  and  most  of  the  furniture  (which  you  see  is 
ancient  and  suitable)  he  picked  up  at  different  cottages  and 
farmhouses  in  the  neighborhood.  At  it  is,  however,  we  have 
plenty  more  rooms  here  and  there — only,  of  late,"  continued 
my  uncle,  slightly  changing  color,  "  I  had  no  money  to  spare. 
But  come,"  he  resumed,  with  an  evident  effort — "come  and  see 
my  barrack  :  it  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall,  and  made  out 
of  what  no  doubt  were  the  butteries." 

We  reached  the  yard  and  found  the  fly-coach  had  just 
crawled  to  the  door.  My  father's  head  was  buried  deep  in 
the  vehicle — he  was  gathering  up  his  packages,  and  sending 
out,  oracle-like,  various  muttered  objurgations  and  anathemas 
upon  Mrs.  Primmins  and  her  vacuum  ;  which  Mrs.  Primmins, 
standing  by  and  making  a  lap  with  her  apron  to  receive  the 
packages  and  anathemas  simultaneously,  bore  with  the  mild- 
ness of  an  angel,  lifting  up  her  eyes  to  heaven  and  murmuring 
something  about  "  poor  old  bones."  Though,  as  for  Mrs. 
Primmins's  bones,  they  had  been  myths  these  twenty  years, 
and  you  might  as  soon  have  found  a  Plesiosaurus  in  the  flat 
lands  of  Romney  Marsh  as  a  bone  amidst  those  layers  of  flesh 
in  which  my  poor  father  thought  he  had  so  carefully  cottoned 
up  his  Cardan. 

Leaving  these  parties  to  adjust  matters  between  them,  we 
stepped  under  the  low  doorway,  and  entered  Roland's  room. 
Oh,  certainly  Bolt  had  caught  the  spirit  of  the  thing  I — cer- 
tainly he  had  penetrated  down  to  the  pathos  that  lay  within 
the  deeps  of  Roland's  character.  Buffon  says  "  the  style  is 
the  man  ";  there,  the  room  was  the  man.  That  nameless, 
inexpressible,  soldier-like,  methodical  neatness  which  belonged 
to  Roland — that  was  the  first  thing  that  struck  one — that  was 
the  general  character  of  the  whole.  Then,  in  details,  there,  in 
stout  oak  shelves,  were  the  books  on  which  my  father  loved  to 
jest  his  more  imaginative  brother — there  they  were,  Froissart, 
Barante,  Joinville,  the  "  Mort  d'Arthur,"  "  Amadis  of  Gaul," 
Spenser's  "  Fairy  Queen,"  a  noble  copy  of  Strutt's  "  Horda," 
Mallet's  "  Northern  Antiquities,"  Percy's  "  Reliques,"  Pope's 
"  Homer,"  books  on  gunnery,  archery,  hawking,  fortification — 
old  chivalry  and  modern  war  together  cheek-by-jowl. 

Old  chivalry  and  modern  war  ! — look  to  that  tilting  helmet 
with  the  tall  Caxton  crest,  and  look  to  that  trophy  near  it,  a 


236  THE   CAXTONS. 

French  cuirass — and  that  old  banner  (a  knight's  pennon) 
surmounting  those  crossed  bayonets.  And  over  the  chimney- 
piece  there,  bright,  clean,  and,  I  warrant  you,  dusted  daily, 
are  Roland's  own  sword,  his  holsters  and  pistols,  yea,  the 
saddle,  pierced  and  lacerated,  from  which  he  had  reeled  when 
that  leg — I  gasped — I  felt  it  all  at  a  glance,  and  I  stole  sofily 
to  the  spot,  and,  had  Roland  not  been  there,  I  could  have 
kissed  that  sword  as  reverently  as  if  it  had  been  a  Bayard's  or 
a  Sidney's. 

My  uncle  was  too  modest  to  guess  my  emotion  ;  he  rather 
thought  I  had  turned  my  face  to  conceal  a  smile  at  his  vanity, 
and  said,  in  a  deprecating  tone  of  apology  :  "  It  was  all  Bolt's 
doing,  foolish  fellow." 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Our  host  regaled  us  with  a  hospitality  that  notably  con- 
trasted his  economical,  thrifty  habits  in  London.  To  be  sure 
Bolt  had  caught  the  great  pike  which  headed  the  feast  ;  and 
Bolt,  no  doubt,  had  helped  to  rear  those  fine  chickens  ab  ovo ; 
Bolt,  I  have  no  doubt,  made  that  excellent  Spanish  omelette  ; 
and,  for  the  rest,  the  products  of  the  sheepwalk  and  the 
garden  came  in  as  volunteer  auxiliaries — very  different  from 
the  mercenary  recruits  by  which  those  metropolitan  Condottieriy 
the  butcher  and  greengrocer,  hasten  the  ruin  of  that  melan- 
choly commonwealth  called  "  genteel  poverty." 

Our  evening  passed  cheerfully  ;  and  Roland,  contrary  to 
his  custom,  was  talker  in  chief.  It  was  eleven  o'clock  before 
Bolt  appeared  with  a  lantern  to  conduct  me  through  the  court- 
yard to  my  dormitory  among  the  ruins— a  ceremony  which, 
every  night,  shine  or  dark,  he  insisted  upon  punctiliously 
performing. 

It  was  long  before  I  could  sleep — before  I  could  believe 
that  but  so  few  days  had  elapsed  since  Roland  heard  of  his 
son's  death — that  son  whose  fate  had  so  long  tortured  him  ; 
and  yet,  never  had  Roland  appeared  so  free  from  sorrow  '. 
Was  it  natural — was  it  effort?  Several  days  passed  before  1 
could  answer  that  question,  and  then  not  wholly  to  my  satis- 
faction. Effort  there  was,  or  rather  resolute,  systematic 
determination.  At  moments  Roland's  head  drooped,  his 
brows  met,  and  the  whole  man  seemed  to  sink.  Yet  these 
were  only  moments  ;  he  would  rouse  himself  up,  like  a  dozing 
charger  at  the  sound  of  a  trumpet,  and  shake  off  the  creeping 
weight.     But  whether  from  the  vigor  of  his  determination,  or 


THE   CAXTONS.  237 

from  some  aid  in  other  trains  of  reflection,  I  could  not  but 
perceive  that  Roland's  sadness  really  was  less  grave  and  bitter 
than  it  had  been,  or  than  it  was  natural  to  suppose.  He 
seemed  to  transfer  daily,  more  and  more,  his  affections  from 
the  dead  to  those  around  him,  especially  to  Blanche  and  myself. 
He  let  it  be  seen  that  he  looked  on  me  now  as  his  lawful 
successor,  as  the  future  supporter  of  his  name  :  he  was  fond 
of  confiding  to  me  all  his  little  plans,  and  consulting  me  on 
them.  He  would  walk  with  me  around  his  domains  (of  which 
I  shall  say  more  hereafter),  point  out,  from  every  eminence 
we  climbed,  where  the  broad  lands  which  his  forefathers  had 
owned  stretched  away  to  the  horizon  ;  unfold  with  tender 
hand  the  mouldering  pedigree,  and  rest  lingeringly  on  those 
of  his  ancestors  who  had  held  martial  post,  or  had  died  on 
the  field.  There  was  a  crusader  who  had  followed  Richard  to 
Ascalon  ;  there  was  a  knight  who  had  fought  at  Agincourt ; 
there  was  a  cavalier  (whose  picture  was  still  extant),  with  fair 
love-locks,  who  had  fallen  at  Worcester — no  doubt  the  same 
who  had  cooled  his  son  in  that  well  which  the  son  devoted  to 
more  agreeable  associations.  But  of  all  these  worthies  there  was 
none  whom  my  uncle,  perhaps  from  the  spirit  of  contradiction, 
valued  like  that  apocryphal  Sir  William  :  and  why  ?  Because, 
when  the  apostate  Stanley  turned  the  fortunes  of  the  field  at 
Bosworth,  and  when  that  cry  of  despair,  "  Treason  !  treason  !  " 
burst  from  the  lips  of  the  last  Plantagenet,  "  amongst  the 
faithless,"  this  true  soldier,  "  faithful  found  !  "  had  fallen  in 
that  lion-rush  which  Richard  made  at  his  foe.  '*  Your  father 
tells  me  that  Richard  was  a  murderer  and  usurper,"  quoth  my 
uncle.  "  Sir,  that  might  be  true  or  not  ;  but  it  was  not  on 
the  field  of  battle  that  his  followers  were  to  reason  on  the 
character  of  the  master  who  trusted  them,  especially  when  a 
legion  of  foreign  hirelings  stood  opposed  to  them.  I  would 
not  have  descended  from  that  turncoat  Stanley  to  be  lord  of 
all  the  lands  the  Earls  of  Derby  can  boast  of.  Sir,  in  loyalty, 
men  fight  and  die  for  a  grand  principle  and  a  lofty  passion  ; 
and  this  brave  Sir  William  was  paying  back  to  the  last  Plan- 
tagenet the  benefits  he  had  received  from  the  first  !  " 

"  And  yet  it  may  be  doubted,"  said  I  maliciously,  "  whether 
William  Caxton  the  printer  did  not — " 

"  Plague,  pestilence,  and  fire  seize  William  Caxton  the 
printer,  and  his  invention  too  !  "  cried  my  uncle  barbarously. 
"  When  there  were  only  a  few  books,  at  least  they  were  good 
ones  ;  and  now  they  are  so  plentiful,  all  they  do  is  to  confound 
the  judgment,  unsettle  the  reason,  drive  the  good  books  out 


238  THE   CAXTON3. 

of  cultivation,  and  draw  a  plouglisliare  of  innovation  over 
every  ancient  landmark  ;  seduce  the  women,  womanize  the 
men,  upset  states,  thrones,  and  churches  ;  rear  a  race  of  chat- 
tering, conceited  coxcombs,  who  can  always  find  bonks  in 
plenty  to  excuse  them  from  doing  their  duty  ;  make  the  poor 
discontented,  the  rich  crotchety  and  whimsical,  refine  away  the 
stout  old  virtues  into  quibbles  and  sentiments  !  All  imagina- 
tion formerly  was  expended  in  noble  action,  adventure,  enter- 
prise, high  deeds  and  aspirations  ;  now  a  man  can  but  be 
imaginative  by  feeding  on  the  false  excitement  of  passions  he 
never  felt,  dangers  he  never  shared  ;  and  he  fritters  away  a!l 
there  is  of  life  to  sf)are  in  him  upon  the  fictitious  love- 
sorrows  of  Bond  Street  and  St.  James's.  Sir,  chivalry  ceased 
when  the  press  rose  !  And  to  fasten  upon  me,  as  a  forefather, 
out  of  all  men  who  ever  lived  and  sinned,  the  very  man  who 
has  most  destroyed  what  I  most  valued — who,  by  the  Lord  ! 
with  his  cursed  invention  has  well-nigh  got  rid  of  respect  for 
forefathers  altogether — is  a  cruelty  of  which  my  brother  had 
never  been  capable,  if  that  printer's  devil  had  not  got  hold  of 
him  !  " 

That  a  man  in  this  blessed  nineteenth  century  should  be 
such  a  Vandal !  And  that  my  Uncle  Roland  should  talk  in  a 
strain  that  Totila  would  have  been  ashamed  of,  within  so 
short  a  time  after  my  father's  scientific  and  erudite  oration  on 
the  Hygeiana  of  Books,  was  enough  to  make  one  despair  of 
the  progress  of  intellect  and  the  perfectibility  of  our  species. 
And  I  have  no  manner  of  doubt  that,  all  the  while,  my  uncle 
had  a  brace  of  books  in  his  pockets,  Robert  Hall  one  of  them  ! 
In  truth  he  had  talked  himself  into  a  passion,  and  did  not 
know  what  nonsense  he  was  saying.  But  this  explosion  of 
Captain  Roland's  has  shattered  the  thread  of  my  matter. 
Pouff !  I  must  take  breath  and  begin  again  ! 

Yes,  in  spite  of  my  sauciness,  the  old  soldier  evidently 
took  to  me  more  and  more.  And  besides  our  critical  examina- 
tion of  the  property  and  the  pedigree,  he  carried  me  with  him 
on  long  excursions  to  distant  villages,  where  some  memorial  of 
a  defunct  Caxton,  a  coat  of  arms,  or  an  epitaph  on  a  tomb- 
stone, might  be  still  seen.  And  he  made  me  pore  over  topo- 
graphical works  and  county  histories  (forgetful,  Goth  that  he 
was,  that  for  those  very  authorities  he  was  indebted  to  the 
repudiated  printer !)  to  find  some  anecdote  of  his  beloved 
dead  !  In  truth,  the  county  for  miles  round  bore  the  vestigia 
of  those  old  Caxtons  ;  their  handwriting  was  on  many  a  broken 
wall.     And,  obscure  as  they  all  were  compared  to  that  great 


iHE    CAXTONS.  2^9 

Operative  of  the  Sanctuary  at  Westminster,  whom  my  father 
clung  to — still,  that  the  yesterdays  that  had  lighted  them  the 
way  to  dusty  death  had  cast  no  glare  on  dishonored  scutcheons 
seemed  clear,  from  the  popular  respect  and  traditional  atfec- 
tion  in  which  I  found  that  the  name  was  still  held  in  hamlet 
and  homestead.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  the  veneration  with 
which  this  small  hidalgo  of  some  three  hundred  a  year  was 
held,  and  the  patriarchal  affection  with  which  he  returned  it. 
Roland  was  a  man  who  would  walk  into  a  cottage,  rest  his 
cork  leg  on  the  hearth,  and  talk  for  the  hour  together  upon  all 
that  lay  nearest  to  the  hearts  of  the  owners.  There  is  a 
peculiar  spirit  of  aristocracy  amongst  agricultural  peasants  : 
they  like  old  names  and  families  ;  they  identify  themselves 
with  the  honors  of  a  house,  as  if  of  its  clan.  They  do  not  care 
so  much  for  wealth  as  townsfolk  and  the  middle  class  do  ; 
they  have  a  pity,  but  a  respectful  one,  for  well-born  poverty. 
And  then  this  Roland,  too — who  would  go  and  dine  in  a  cook- 
shop,  and  receive  change  for  a  shilling,  and  shun  the  ruinous 
luxury  of  a  hack  cabriolet — could  be  positively  extravagant  in 
his  liberalities  to  those  around  him.  He  was  altogether  another 
being  in  his  paternal  acres.  The  shabby-genteel,  half-pay  cap- 
tain, lost  in  the  whirl  of  London,  here  luxuriated  into  a  digni- 
fied ease  of  manner  that  Chesterfield  might  have  admired. 
And,  if  to  please  is  the  true  sign  of  politeness,  I  wish  you 
could  have  seen  the  faces  that  smiled  upon  Captain  Roland,  as 
he  walked  down  the  village,  nodding  from  side  to  side. 

One  day  a  frank,  hearty  old  woman,  who  had  known  Roland 
as  a  boy,  seeing  him  lean  on  my  arm,  stopped  us,  as  she  said 
bluffly,  to  take  a  "  geud  luik  "  at  me. 

Fortunately  I  was  stalwart  enough  to  pass  muster,  even  in 
the  eyes  of  a  Cumberland  matron  ;  and  after  a  compliment  at 
which  Roland  seemed  much  pleased,  she  said  to  me,  but  point- 
ing to  the  Captain  : 

"  Hegh,  sir,  now  you  ha  the  bra  time  before  you  ;  you  maun 
een  try  and  be  as  geud  as  he.  And  if  life  last,  ye  wuU  too — 
for  there  never  waur  a  bad  ane  of  that  stock.  Wi'  heads  kindly 
stup'd  to  the  least,  and  lifted  manfu'  oop  to  the  heighest — that 
ye  all  war'  sin  ye  came  from  the  Ark.  Blessin's  on  the  ould 
name — though  little  pelf  goes  with  it — it  sounds  on  the  peur 
man's  ear  like  a  bit  of  gould  !  " 

"  Do  you  not  see  now,"  said  Roland,  as  we  turned  awa)', 
"  what  we  owe  to  a  name,  and  what  to  our  forefathers  ?  Do 
you  not  see  why  the  remotest  ancestor  has  a  right  to  our  re- 
spect and  consideration — for  he  was  a  parent  ?     *  Honor  your 


240  THE    CAXTONS. 

parents  ' — the  law  does  not  say,  '  Honor  your  children  ?*  If 
a  child  disgrace  us,  and  the  dead,  and  the  sanctity  of  this  great 
heritage  of  their  virtues,  the  name — if  he  does—"  Roland 
stopped  short,  and  added  fervently  :  "  But  you  are  my  heir 
now — I  have  no  fear  !  What  matter  one  foolish  old  man's 
sorrows  ?  The  name,  that  property  of  generations,  is  saved, 
thank  Heaven — the  name  ! " 

Now  the  riddle  was  solved,  and  I  understood  why,  amidst 
■all  his  natural  grief  for  a  son's  loss,  that  proud  father  was  con- 
soled. For  he  was  less  himself  a  father  than  a  son — son  to  the 
long  dead.  From  every  grave  where  a  progenitor  slept,  he 
had  heard  a  parent's  voice.  He  could  bear  to  be  bereaved,  if 
the  forefathers  were  not  dishonored.  Roland  was  more  than 
half  a  Roman — the  son  might  still  cling  to  his  household  affec- 
tions, but  the  lares  were  a  part  of  his  religion. 


CHAPTER  V. 

But  I  ought  to  be  hard  at  work,  preparing  myself  for  Cam- 
bridge. The  deuce  ! — how  can  I  ?  The  point  in  academical 
education  on  which  I  require  most  preparation  is  Greek  com- 
position. I  come  to  my  father,  who,  one  might  think,  was  at 
home  enough  in  this.  But  rare  indeed  is  it  to  find  a  great 
scholar  who  is  a  good  teacher. 

My  dear  father  !  if  one  is  content  to  take  you  in  your  own 
way,  there  never  was  a  more  admirable  instructor  for  the 
heart,  the  head,  the  principles,  or  the  taste — when  you  have 
discovered  that  there  is  some  one  sore  to  be  healed,  one  defect 
to  be  repaired  :  and  you  have  rubbed  your  spectacles,  and  got 
your  hand  fairly  into  that  recess  between  your  frill  and  your 
waistcoat.  But  to  go  to  you,  cut  and  dry,  monotonously,  reg- 
ularly, book  and  exercise  in  hand,  to  see  the  mournful  patience 
with  which  you  tear  yourself  from  that  great  volume  of  Car- 
dan in  the  very  honeymoon  of  possession,  and  then  to  note 
those  mild  eyebrov.'s  gradually  distend  themselves  into  per- 
plexed diagnosis,  over  some  false  quantity  or  some  barbarous 
collocation,  till  there  steal  forth  that  horrible  "  Papge  !  "  which 
means  more  on  your  lips  than  I  am  sure  it  ever  did  when  Latm 
was  a  live  language,  and  "  Papse  !  "  a  natural  and  unpedantic 
ejaculation  ! — no,  I  would  sooner  blunder  through  the  dark 
by  myself  a  thousand  times,  than  light  my  rushlight  at  the 
lamp  of  that  Phlegethonian  "  Papse  !  " 

And  then  my  father  would  wisely  and  kindly,  but  wondrous 


tnt   CAXTONS.  i4t 

slowly,  erase  three-fourths  of  one's  pet  verses,  and  intercalate 
others  that  one  saw  were  exquisite,  but  could  not  exactly  see 
why.  And  then  one  asked  why  ;  and  my  father  shook  his 
head  in  despair,  and  said  :  "  But  you  ought  \.o  fed  why  !  " 

In  short,  scholarship  to  him  was  like  poetry  :  he  could  no 
more  teach  it  you  than  Pindar  could  have  taught  you  how  to 
make  an  ode.  You  breathed  the  aroma,  but  you  could  no 
more  seize  and  analyze  it,  than,  with  the  opening  of  your  naked 
hand,  you  could  carry  off  the  scent  of  a  rose.  I  soon  left  my 
father  in  peace  to  Cardan,  and  to  the  Great  Book,  which  last, 
by  the  way,  advanced  but  slowly.  For  Uncle  Jack  had  now 
insisted  on  its  being  published  in  quarto,  with  illustrative 
plates  ;  and  those  plates  took  an  immense  time,  and  were  to 
cost  an  immense  sum— but  that  cost  was  the  affair  of  the  Anti- 
Publisher  Society.  But  how  can  I  settle  to  work  by  myself  ? 
No  sooner  have  I  got  into  my  xoova—penitus  ab  orbe  divisus, 
as  I  rashly  think — than  there  is  a  tap  at  the  door.  Now  it  is 
my  mother,  who  is  benevolently  engaged  upon  making  curtains 
to  all  the  windows  (a  trifling  superfluity  that  Bolt  had  forgotten 
or  disdained),  and  who  wants  to  know  how  the  draperies  are 
fashioned  at  Mr.  Trevanion's  :  a  pretence  to  have  me  near  her, 
and  see  with  her  own  eyes  that  I  am  not  fretting  ;  the  moment 
she  hears  I  have  shut  myself  up  in  my  room,  she  is  sure  that 
it  is  for  sorrow.  Now  it  is  Bolt,  who  is  making  book-shelves 
for  my  father,  and  desires  to  consult  me  at  every  turn,  espe- 
cially as  I  have  given  him  a  Gothic  design,  which  pleases  him 
hugely.  Now  it  is  Blanche,  whom,  in  an  evil  hour,  I  under- 
took to  teach  to  draw,  and  who  comes  in  on  tiptoe,  vowing 
she'll  not  disturb  me,  and  sits  so  quiet  that  she  fidgets  me  out 
of  all  patience.  Now,  and  much  more  often,  it  is  the  Captain, 
who  wants  me  to  walk,  to  ride,  to  fish.  And,  by  St.  Hubert 
(saint  of  the  chase)  !  bright  August  comes,  and  there  is  moor- 
game  on  those  barren  wolds,  and  my  uncle  has  given  me  the 
gun  he  shot  with  at  my  age — single-barrelled,  flint  lock — but 
you  would  not  have  laughed  at  it  if  you  had  seen  the  strange 
feats  it  did  in  Roland's  hands — while  in  mine,  I  could  always 
lay  the  blame  on  the  flint  lock  !  Time,  in  short,  passed 
rapidly ;  and  if  Roland  and  I  had  our  dark  hours,  we  chased 
them  away  before  they  could  settle — shot  them  on  the  wing  as 
they  got  up. 

Then,  too,  though  the  immediate  scenery  around  my  uncle's 
was  so  bleak  and  desolate,  the  country  within  a  few  miles  was 
so  full  of  objects  of  interest,  of  landscapes  so  poetically  grand 
or  lovely ;  and  occasionally  we  coaxed  my  father  from  the 


242  THE   CAXTONS. 

Cardan,  and  spent  whole  days  by  the  margin  of  some  glorious 
lake. 

Amongst  these  excursions,  I  made  one  by  myself  to  that 
house  in  which  my  father  had  known  the  bliss  and  the  pangs 
of  that  stern  first-love  which  still  left  its  scars  fresh  on  my 
own  memory.  The  house,  large  and  imposing,  was  shut  up — 
the  Trevanions  had  not  been  there  for  years — the  pleasure- 
grounds  had  been  contracted  into  the  smallest  possible  space. 
There  was  no  positive  decay  or  ruin — that  Trevanion  would 
never  have  allowed  ;  but  there  was  the  dreary  look  of  absentee- 
ship  everywhere.  I  penetrated  into  the  house  with  the  help 
of  my  card  and  half-a-crown.  I  saw  that  memorable  boudoir ; 
I  could  fancy  the  very  spot  in  which  my  father  had  heard  the 
sentence  that  had  changed  the  current  of  his  life.  And  when 
I  returned  home  I  looked  with  new  tenderness  on  my  father's 
placid  brow,  and  blessed  anew  that  tender  helpmate,  who,  in 
her  patient  love,  had  chased  from  it  every  shadow. 

I  had  received  one  letter  from  Vivian  a  few  days  after  our 
arrival.  It  had  been  re-directed  from  my  father's  house,  at 
which  I  had  given  him  my  address.  It  was  short,  but  seemed 
cheerful.  He  said  that  he  believed  he  had  at  last  hit  on  the 
right  way,  and  should  keep  to  it ;  that  he  and  the  world  were 
better  friends  than  they  had  been  ;  that  the  only  way  to  keep 
friends  v/ith  the  world  was  to  treat  it  as  a  tamed  tiger,  and 
have  one  hand  on  a  crowbar  while  one  fondled  the  beast  with 
the  other.  He  enclosed  me  a  banknote,  which  somewhat  more 
than  covered  his  debt  to  me,  and  bade  me  pay  him  the  surplus 
when  he  should  claim  it  as  a  millionnaire.  He  gave  me  no 
address  in  his  letter,  but  it  bore  the  postmark  of  Godalming. 
I  had  the  impertinent  curiosity  to  look  into  an  old  topographi- 
cal work  upon  Surrey,  and  in  a  supplemental  itinerary  I  found 
this  passage :  "  To  the  left  of  the  beech-wood,  three  miles 
from  Godalming,  j'^ou  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  elegant  seat  of 
Francis  Vivian,  Esq."  To  judge  by  the  date  of  the  work,  the 
said  Francis  Vivian  might  be  the  grandfather  of  my  friend,  his 
namesake.  There  could  no  longer  be  any  doubt  as  to  the 
parentage  of  this  prodigal  son. 

The  long  vacation  was  now  nearly  over,  and  all  his  guests 
were  to  leave  the  poor  Captain.  In  fact,  we  had  made  a  con- 
siderable tresspass  on  his  hospitality.  It  was  settled  that  I 
was  to  accompany  my  father  and  mother  to  their  long-neg- 
lected penates,  and  start  thence  for  Cambridge. 

Our  parting  was  sorrowful — even  Mrs.  Primmins  wept  as 
she  shook  hands  with  Bolt,     But  Bolt,  an  old  soldier,  was  of 


fHE   CAXTONS.  243 

course  a  lady's  man.  The  brothers  did  not  shake  hands  only  ; 
they  fondly  embraced,  as  brothers  of  that  time  of  life  rarely 
do  nowadays,  except  on  the  stage.  And  Blanche,  with  one 
arm  round  my  mother's  neck  and  one  round  mine,  sobbed  in 
my  ear :  "  But  I  will  be  your  little  wife,  I  will."  Finally,  the 
fly-coach  once  more  received  us  all — all  but  poor  Blanche,  and 
we  looked  round  and  missed  her. 

CHAPTER   VI. 

Alma  Mater  !  Alma  Mater !  New-fashioned  folks,  with 
their  large  theories  of  education,  may  find  fault  with  thee. 
But  a  true  Spartan  mother  thou  art — hard  and  stern  as  the 
old  matron  who  bricked  up  her  son  Pausanias,  bringing  the 
first  stone  to  immure  him  ;  hard  and  stern,  I  say,  to  the  worth- 
less, but  full  of  majestic  tenderness  to  the  worthy. 

For  a  young  man  to  go  up  to  Cambridge  (I  say  nothing  of 
Oxford,  knowing  nothing  thereof)  merely  as  routine  work,  to 
lounge  through  three  years  to  a  degree  among  the  oi  noXkoi — ■ 
for  such  an  one,  Oxford  Street  herself,  whom  the  immortal 
Opium-Eater  hath  so  direly  apostrophized,  is  not  a  more  care- 
less and  stony-hearted  mother.  But  for  him  who  will  read, 
who  will  work,  who  will  seize  the  rare  advantages  proffered, 
who  will  select  his  friends  judiciously — yea,  out  of  that  vast 
ferment  of  young  idea  in  its  lusty  vigor,  choose  the  good  and 
reject  the  bad — there  is  plenty  to  make  those  three  j^ears  rich 
with  fruit  imperishable — three  years  nobly  spent,  even  though 
one  must  pass  over  the  Ass's  Bridge  to  get  into  the  Temple 
of  Honor. 

Important  changes  in  the  Academical  system  have  been 
recently  announced,  and  honors  are  henceforth  to  be  accorded 
to  the  successful  disciples  in  moral  and  natural  sciences.  By 
the  side  of  the  old  throne  of  Mathesis,  they  have  placed  two 
very  \x%t.{\\\  fauteuils  h  la  Voltaire.  I  have  no  objection  ;  but, 
in  those  three  years  of  life,  it  is  not  so  much  the  thing  learned, 
as  the  steady  perseverance  in  learning  something  that  is 
excellent. 

It  was  fortunate,  in  one  respect,  for  me  that  I  had  seen  a 
little  of  the  real  world,  the  metropolitan,  before  I  came  to  that 
mimic  one,  the  cloistral.  For  what  were  called  pleasures  in 
the  last,  and  which  might  have  allured  me,  had  I  come  fresh 
from  school,  had  no  charm  for  me  now.  Hard  drinking  and 
high  play,  a  certain  mixture  of  coarseness  and  extravagance, 
made  the  fashion  among  the  idle  when  I  was  at  the  university, 


^44  THE   CAXTONS. 

consule  Planco — when  Wordsworth  was  master  of  Trinity :  it 
may  be  altered  now. 

But  I  had  already  outlived  such  temptations,  and  so,  natu- 
rally, I  was  thrown  out  of  the  society  of  the  idle,  and  somewhat 
into  that  of  the  laborious. 

Still,  to  speak  frankly,  I  had  no  longer  the  old  pleasure  in 
books.  If  my  acquaintance  with  the  great  world  had  de- 
stroyed the  temptation  to  puerile  excesses,  it  had  also  increased 
my  constitutional  tendency  to  practical  action.  And,  alas ! 
in  spite  of  all  the  benefit  I  had  derived  from  Robert  Hall, 
there  were  times  when  memory  was  so  poignant  that  I  had  no 
choice  but  to  rush  from  the  lonely  room  haunted  by  tempting 
phantoms  too  dangerously  fair,  and  sober  down  the  fever  of 
the  heart  by  some  violent  bodily  fatigue.  The  ardor  which 
belongs  to  early  youth,  and  which  it  best  dictates  to  knowl- 
edge, had  been  charmed  prematurely  to  shrines  less  severely 
sacred.  Therefore  though  I  labored,  it  was  with  that  full 
sense  of  labor  which  (as  I  found  at  a  much  later  period  of  life) 
the  truly  triumphant  student  never  knows.  Learning — that 
marble  image — warms  into  life,  not  at  the  toil  of  the  chisel, 
but  the  worship  of  the  sculptor.  The  mechanical  workman 
finds  but  the  voiceless  stone. 

At  my  uncle's  such  a  thing  as  a  newspaper  rarely  made  its 
appearance.  At  Cambridge,  even  among  reading  men,  the 
newspapers  had  their  due  importance.  Politics  ran  high  ;  and 
I  had  not  been  three  days  at  Cambridge  before  I  heard  Tre- 
vanion's  name.  Newspapers,  therefore,  had  their  charms  for 
me.  Trevanion's  prophecy  about  himself  seemed  about  to  be 
fulfilled.  There  were  rumors  of  changes  in  the  Cabinet. 
Trevanion's  name  was  bandied  to  and  fro,  struck  from  praise 
to  blame,  high  and  low,  as  a  shuttlecock.  Still  the  changes 
were  not  made,  and  the  Cabinet  held  firm.  Not  a  word  in  the 
Mornifig  Post  under  the  head  of  "  fashionable  intelligence,"  as 
to  rumors  that  would  have  agitated  me  more  than  the  rise  and 
fall  of  governments  ;  no  hint  of  "  the  speedy  nuptials  of  the 
daughter  and  sole  heiress  of  a  distinguished  and  wealthy  com- 
moner ";  only  now  and  then,  in  enumerating  the  circle  of 
brilliant  guests  at  the  house  of  some  party  chief,  I  gulped 
back  the  heart  that  rushed  to  my  lips,  when  I  saw  the  names 
of  Lady  Ellinor  and  Miss  Trevanion. 

But  amongst  all  that  prolific  progeny  of  the  periodical 
press — remote  offspring  of  my  great  namesake  and  ancestor 
(for  I  hold  the  faith  of  my  father) — where  was  the  Literary 
Times  ?     What  had  so  long  retarded  its  promised  blossoms  ? 


THE    CAXTONS.  245 

Not  a  leaf  in  the  shape  of  advertisements  had  yet  emerged 
from  its  mother  earth.  I  hoped  from  my  heart  that  the  whole 
thing  was  abandoned,  and  would  not  mention  it  in  my  letters 
home,  lest  I  should  revive  the  mere  idea  of  it.  But,  in  default 
of  the  Literary  Times,  there  did  appear  a  new  journal,  a  daily 
journal,  too  ;  a  tall,  slender,  and  meagre  stripling,  with  a  vast 
head,  by  way  of  prospectus,  which  protruded  itself  for  three 
weeks  successively  at  the  top  of  the  leading  article  ;  with  a 
fine  and  subtle  body  of  paragraphs  ;  and  the  smallest  legs,  in 
the  way  of  advertisements,  that  any  poor  newspaper  ever 
stood  upon  !  And  yet  this  attenuated  journal  had  a  plump 
and  plethoric  title — a  title  that  smacked  of  turtle  and  venison  ; 
an  aldermanic,  portly,  grandiose,  Falstaffian  title — it  was 
called  The  Capitalist.  And  all  those  fine,  subtle  para- 
graphs were  larded  out  with  recipes  how  to  make  money. 
There  was  an  El  Dorado  in  every  sentence.  To  believe  that 
paper,  you  would  think  no  man  had  ever  yet  found  a  proper 
return  for  his  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence.  You  would  turn 
up  your  nose  at  twenty  per  cent.  There  was  a  great  deal 
about  Ireland — not  her  wrongs,  thank  Heaven  !  but  her 
fisheries  ;  a  long  inquiry  what  had  become  of  the  pearls  for 
which  Britain  was  once  so  famous  ;  a  learned  disquisition  upon 
certain  lost  gold  mines  now  happily  rediscovered  ;  a  very 
ingenious  proposition  to  turn  London  smoke  into  manure,  by 
a  new  chemical  process  ;  recommendations  to  the  poor  to 
hatch  chickens  in  ovens  like  the  ancient  Egyptians  ;  agricul- 
tural schemes  for  sowing  the  waste  lands  in  England  with 
onions,  upon  the  system  adopted  near  Bedford — net  produce 
one  hundred  pounds  an  acre.  In  short,  according  to  that 
paper,  every  rood  of  ground  might  well  maintain  its  man,  and 
every  shilling  be  like  Hobson's  money-bag,  "the  fruitful 
parent  of  a  hundred  more."  For  three  days,  at  the  newspaper 
room  of  the  Union  Club,  men  talked  of  this  journal  ;  some 
pished,  some  sneered,  some  wondered  :  till  an  ill-natured 
mathematician,  who  had  just  taken  his  degree,  and  had  spare 
time  on  his  hands,  sent  a  long  letter  to  the  Morning  Chronicle, 
showing  up  more  blunders,  in  some  article  to  which  the  editor 
of  The  Capitalist  had  specially  invited  attention,  than  would 
have  paved  the  whole  island  of  Laputa.  After  that  time  not 
a  soul  read  The  Capitalist.  How  long  it  dragged  on  its 
existence  I  know  not  ;  but  it  certainly  did  not  die  of  a  maladie 
de  langucur. 

Little  thought  I,  when  I  joined  in  the  laugh  against  The 
Capitalist,  that  I  ought  rather  to  have  followed  it  to  its  grave, 


246  THE   CAXTONS. 

in  black  crape  and  weepers — unfeeling  wretch  that  I  was! 
But,  like  a  poet,  O  Capitalist !  thou  wert  not  discovered,  and 
appreciated,  and  prized,  and  mourned,  till  thou  wert  dead  and 
buried,  and  the  bill  came  in  for  thy  monument ! 

The  first  term  of  my  college  life  was  just  expiring,  when  I 
received  a  letter  from  my  mother,  so  agitated,  so  alarming,  at 
first  reading  so  unintelligible,  that  I  could  only  see  that  some 
great  misfortune  had  befallen  us  ;  and  I  stopped  short  and 
dropped  on  my  knees  to  pray  for  the  life  and  health  of  those 
whom  that  misfortune  more  specially  seemed  to  menace  ;  and 
then — and  then,  towards  the  end  of  the  last  blurred  sentence, 
read  twice,  thrice,  over,  I  could  cry  :  "  Thank  Heaven,  thank 
Heaven  !  it  is  only,  then,  money,  after  all." 


PART  ELEVENTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  next  day,  on  the  outside  of  the  Cambridge  Telegraph, 
there  was  one  passenger  who  ought  to  have  impressed  his 
fellow-travellers  with  a  very  respectful  idea  of  his  lore  in  the 
dead  languages  ;  for  not  a  single  syllable,  in  a  live  one,  did  he 
vouchsafe  to  utter  from  the  moment  he  ascended  that  "  bad 
eminence,"  to  the  moment  in  which  he  regained  his  mother 
earth.  "  Sleep,"  says  honest  Sancho,  "covers  a  man  better 
than  a  cloak."  I  am  ashamed  of  thee,  honest  Sancho  !  thou 
art  a  sad  plagiarist ;  for  Tibullus  said  pretty  nearly  the  same 
thing  before  thee : 

"  Te  somnus  fusco  velavit  amictu."  * 

But  is  it  not  silence  as  good  a  cloak  as  sleep  ?  Does  it  not 
wrap  a  man  round  with  as  offusc  and  impervious  a  fold  ? 
Silence — what  a  world  it  covers  !  What  busy  schemes — what 
bright  hopes  and  dark  fears — what  ambition,  or  what  despair ! 
Do  you  ever  see  a  man  in  any  society  sitting  mute  for  hours, 
and  not  feel  an  uneasy  curiosity  to  penetrate  the  wall  he  thus 
builds  up  between  others  and  himself  ?  Does  he  not  interest 
you  far  more  than  the  brilliant  talker  at  your  left,  the  airy  wit 
at  your  right,  whose  shafts  fall  in  vain  on  the  sullen  barrier  of 
the  silent  man  !     Silence,  dark  sister  of  Nox  and  Erebus,  how, 

*  Tibullut,  iii.  4,  55. 


THE    CAXTONS.  247 

layer  upon  layer,  shadow  upon  shadow,  blackness  upon  black- 
ness, thou  stretchest  thyself  from  hell  to  heaven,  over  thy  two 
chosen  haunts — man's  heart  and  the  grave  ! 

So,  then,  wrapped  in  my  greatcoat  and  my  silence,  I  per- 
formed my  journey  ;  and  on  the  evening  of  the  second  day  I 
reached  the  old-fashioned  brick  house.  How  shrill  on  my  ears 
sounded  the  bell !  How  strange  and  ominous  to  my  im- 
patience seemed  the  light  gleaming  across  the  windows  of  the 
hall !  How  my  heart  beat  as  I  watched  the  face  of  the  servant 
who  opened  the  gate  to  my  summons  ! 

"All  well?  "cried  I. 

"  All  well,  sir,"  answered  the  servant  cheerfully.  "  Mr. 
Squills,  indeed,  is  with  master,  but  I  don't  think  there  is  any- 
thing the  matter." 

But  now  my  mother  appeared  at  the  threshold,  and  I  was  in 
her  arms. 

"  Sisty,  Sisty  ! — my  dear,  dear  son  ! — beggared,  perhaps — 
and  my  fault — mine." 

"  Yours  !  Come  into  this  room,  out  of  hearing — your 
fault?" 

«  Yes — yes  ! — for  if  I  had  had  no  brother,  or  if  I  had  not 
been  led  away — if  I  had,  as  I  ought,  entreated  poor  Austin 
not  to — " 

"  My  dear,  dearest  mother,  you  accuse  yourself  for  what,  it 
seems,  was  my  uncle's  misfortune — I  am  sure  not  even  his 
fault !  (I  made  a  gulp  there.)  No,  lay  the  fault  on  the  right 
shoulders — the  defunct  shoulders  of  that  horrible  progenitor, 
William  Caxton  the  printer,  for,  though  I  don't  yet  know  the 
particulars  of  what  has  happened,  I  will  lay  a  wager  it  is  con- 
nected with  that  fatal  invention  of  printing.  Come,  come — 
my  father  is  well,  is  he  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  thank  Heaven." 

"  And  I  too,  and  Roland,  and  little  Blanche  !  Why,  then, 
you  are  right  to  thank  Heaven,  for  your  true  treasures  are 
untouched.     But  sit  down  and  explain,  pray." 

"  I  cannot  explain.  I  do  not  understand  anything  more 
than  he,  my  brother — mine  ! — has  involved  Austin  in — in — " 
(a  fresh  burst  of  tears). 

1  comforted,  scolded,  laughed,  preached,  and  adjured  in  a 
breath  ;  and  then,  drawing  my  mother  gently  on,  entered  my 
father's  study. 

At  the  table  was  seated  Mr.  Squills,  pen  in  hand,  and  a 
glass  of  his  favorite  punch  by  his  side.  My  father  was  stand- 
ing on  the  hearth,  a  shade  more  pale,  but  with  a  resolute  expres- 


248  THE   CAXTONS. 

sion  on  his  countenance,  which  was  new  to  its  indolent,  thought- 
ful mildness.  He  lifted  his  eyes  as  the  door  opened,  and  then, 
putting  his  finger  to  his  lips,  as  he  glanced  towards  my  mother, 
he  said  gayly  :  "  No  great  harm  done.  Don't  believe  her  ! 
Women  always  exaggerate,  and  make  realities  of  their  own 
bugbears :  it  is  the  vice  of  their  lively  imaginations,  as  Wierus 
has  clearly  shown  in  accounting  for  the  marks,  moles,  and 
hare-lips  which  they  inflict  upon  their  innocent  infants  before 
they  are  even  born.  My  dear  boy,"  added  my  father,  as  1  here 
kissed  him  and  smiled  in  his  face,  "  I  thank  you  for  that  smile  ! 
God  bless  you  !  "  he  wrung  my  hand,  and  turned  a  little 
aside. 

"It  is  a  great  comfort,"  renewed  my  father,  after  a  short 
pause,  "  to  know,  when  a  misfortune  happens,  that  it  could 
not  be  helped.  Squills  has  just  discovered  that  I  have  no  bump 
of  cautiousness  ;  so  that,  craniologically  speaking,  if  I  had 
escaped  one  imprudence,  I  should  certainly  have  run  my  head 
against  another." 

"  A  man  with  your  development  is  made  to  be  taken  in," 
said  Mr.  Squills  consolingly. 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  my  own  Kitty  ?  And  have  you  the  heart 
to  blame  Jack  any  longer — a  poor  creature  cursed  with  a  bump 
that  would  take  in  the  Stock  Exchange  ?  And  can  any  one 
resist  his  bump.  Squills  ?  " 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  the  surgeon  authoritatively. 

"  Sooner  or  latter  it  must  involve  him  in  its  airy  meshes — 
eh.  Squills  ?  entrap  him  into  its  fatal  cerebral  cell.  There  his 
fate  waits  him,  like  the  ant-lion  in  its  pit." 

"  Too  true,"  quoth  Squills.  "  What  a  phrenological  lecturer 
you  would  have  made  !  " 

"  Go,  then,  my  love,"  said  my  father,  "  and  lay  no  blame  but 
on  this  melancholy  cavity  of  mine,  where  cautiousness — is  not! 
Go,  and  let  Sisty  have  some  supper  ;  for  Squills  says  that  he 
has  a  fine  development  of  the  mathematical  organs,  and  we 
want  his  help.     We  are  hard  at  work  on  figures,  Pisistratus." 

My  mother  looked  broken-hearted, and,  obeying  submissively, 
stole  to  the  door  without  a  word.  But  as  she  reached  the 
threshold  she  turned  round,  and  beckoned  to  me  to  follow  her. 

I  whispered  my  father,  and  went  out.  My  mother  was  stand- 
ing in  the  hall,  and  I  saw  by  the  lamp  that  she  had  dried  her 
tears,  and  that  her  face,  though  very  sad,  was  more  composed. 

"  Sisty,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice  which  struggled  to  be  firm, 
*'  promise  me  that  you  will  tell  me  all — the  worst,  Sisty.  They 
keep  it  from  me,  and  that  is  my  hardest  punishment ;  for  when 


THE   CAXTONS.  .   249 

I  don't  know  all  that  he — that  Austin  suffers,  it  seems  to  me  as  if 
I  had  lost  his  heart.  Oh,  Sisty  !  my  child,  my  child,  don't  fear 
me  !  I  shall  be  happy  whatever  befalls  us,  if  I  once  get  back 
my  privilege — my  privilege,  Sisty,  to  comfort,  to  share  !  Do 
you  understand  me?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  my  mother !  And  with  your  good  sense,  and 
clear  woman's  wit,  if  you  will  but  feel  how  much  we  want  them, 
you  will  be  the  best  counsellor  we  could  have.  So  never  fear ; 
you  and  I  will  have  no  secrets." 

My  mother  kissed  me,  and  went  away  with  a  less  heavy  step. 

As  I  re-entered,  my  father  came  across  the  room  and 
embraced  me. 

"  My  son,"  he  said  in  a  faltering  voice,  "  if  your  modest 
prospects  in  life  are  ruined — " 

"  Father,  father,  can  you  think  of  me  at  such  a  moment  ! 
Me  !  Is  it  possible  to  ruin  the  young,  and  strong,  and  healthy  ! 
Ruin  me,  with  these  thews  and  sinews  !  Ruin  me,  with  the 
education  you  have  given  me — thews  and  sinews  of  the  mind  ! 
Oh  no  !  there.  Fortune  is  harmless  !  And  you  forget,  sir — the 
saffron  bag  ! " 

Squills  leapt  up,  and,  wiping  his  eyes  with  one  hand,  gave 
me  a  sounding  slap  on  the  shoulder  with  the  other. 

"  I  am  proud  of  the  care  I  took  of  your  infancy,  Master 
Caxton.  That  comes  of  strengthening  the  digestive  organs  in 
early  childhood.  Such  sentiments  are  a  proof  of  magnificent 
ganglions  in  a  perfect  state  of  order.  When  a  man's  tongue 
is  as  smooth  as  I  am  sure  yours  is,  he  slips  through  misfortune 
like  an  eel." 

I  laughed  outright,  my  father  smiled  faintly  :  and,  seating 
myself,  I  drew  towards  me  a  paper  filled  with  Squills'  memo- 
randa, and  said,  "  Now  to  find  the  unknown  quantity.  What 
on  earth  is  this  ?  *  Supposed  value  of  books,  ;£tso'  Oh, 
father  !  this  is  impossible.  I  was  prepared  for  anything  but 
that.     Your  books — they  are  your  life  !  " 

"  Nay,"  said  my  father  ;  "  after  all,  they  are  the  offending 
party  in  thjs  case,  and  so  ought  to  be  the  principal  victims. 
Besides,  I  believe  I  know  most  of  them  by  heart.  But,  in 
truth,  we  are  only  entering  all  our  effects,  to  be  sure  (added 
my  father  proudly)  that,  come  what  may,  we  are  not  dis- 
honored.' 

"  Humor  him,"  whispered  Squills  ;  "  we  will  save  the  books." 
Then  he  added  aloud,  as  he  laid  finger  and  thumb  on  my 
pulse  :  "  One,  two,  three,  about  seventy — capital  pulse — soft 
and  full — he  can  bear  the  whole     let  us  administer  it." 


85©  THE   CAXTONS. 

My  father  nodded  :  "  Certainly.  But,  Pisistratus,  we  musf 
manage  your  dear  mother.  Why  she  should  think  of  blaming 
herself,  because  poor  Jack  took  wrong  ways  to  enrich  us,  I 
cannot  understand.  But  as  I  have  had  occasion  before  to 
remark,  Sphinx  is  a  noun  feminine." 

My  poor  father !  that  was  a  vain  struggle  for  thy  wonted 
innocent  humor.     The  lips  quivered. 

Then  the  story  came  out.  It  seems  that,  when  it  was 
resolved  to  undertake  the  publication  of  the  Literary  Times,  a 
certain  number  of  shareholders  had  been  got  together  by  the 
indefatigable  energies  of  Uncle  Jack  ;  and  in  the  deed  of 
association  and  partnership,  my  father's  name  figured  con- 
spicuously as  the  holder  of  a  fourth  of  this  joint  property.  If 
in  this  my  father  had  committed  some  imprudence,  he  had  at 
least  done  nothing  that,  according  to  the  ordinary  calculations 
of  a  secluded  student,  could  become  ruinous.  But,  just  at  the 
time  when  we  were  in  the  hurry  of  leaving  town.  Jack  had 
represented  to  my  father  that  it  might  be  necessary  to  alter  a 
little  the  plan  of  the  paper  ;  and,  in  order  to  allure  a  larger 
circle  of  readers,  touch  somewhat  on  the  more  vulgar  news  and 
interests  of  the  day.  A  change  of  plan  might  involve  a  change 
of  title  ;  and  he  suggested  to  my  father  the  expediency  of  leav- 
ing the  smooth  hands  of  Mr,  Tibbets  altogether  unfettered,  as 
to  the  technical  name  and  precise  form  of  the  publication.  To 
this  my  father  had  unwittingly  assented,  on  hearing  that  the 
other  shareholders  would  do  the  same.  Mr.  Peck,  a  printer  of 
considerable  opulence,  and  highly  respectable  name,  had  been 
found  to  advance  the  sum  necessary  for  the  publication  of  the 
earlier  numbers,  upon  the  guarantee  of  the  said  act  of  partner- 
ship and  the  additional  security  of  my  father's  signature  to  a 
document,  authorizing  Mr.  Tibbets  to  make  any  change  in  the 
form  or  title  of  the  periodical  that  might  be  judged  advisable, 
concurrent  with  the  consent  of  the  other  shareholders. 

Now  it  seems  that  Mr.  Peck  had,  in  his  previous  conferences 
with  Mr.  Tibbets,  thrown  much  cold  water  on  the  idea  of  the 
Literary  Times^  and  had  suggested  something  that  should 
"  catch  the  moneyed  public  " — the  fact  being,  as  was  after- 
wards discovered,  that  the  printer,  whose  spirit  of  enterprise 
was  congenial  to  Uncle  Jack's,  had  shares  in  three  or  four 
speculations,  to  which  he  was  naturally  glad  of  an  opportunity 
to  invite  the  attention  of  the  public.  In  a  word,  no  sooner 
was  my  poor  father's  back  turned,  than  the  Literary  Times  was 
dropped  incontinently,  and  Mr.  Peck  and  Mr.  Tibbets  began 
to  concentrate  their  luminous  notions  into  that  brilliant  and 


THE   CAXTONS.  25 1 

comet-like  apparition  which  ultimately  blazed  forth  under  the 
title  of  The  Capitalist. 

From  this  change  of  enterprise  the  more  prudent  and 
responsible  of  the  original  shareholders  had  altogether  with- 
drawn. A  majority,  indeed,  were  left ;  but  the  greater  part 
of  those  were  shareholders  of  that  kind  most  amenable  to  the 
influences  of  Uncle  Jack,  and  willing  to  be  shareholders  in 
anything,  since  as  yet  they  were  possessors  of  nothing. 

Assured  of  my  father's  responsibility,  the  adventurous  Peck 
put  plenty  of  spirit  into  the  first  launch  of  The  Capitalist.  All 
the  walls  were  placarded  with  its  announcements  ;  circular 
advertisements  ran  from  one  end  of  the  kingdom  to  the  other. 
Agents  were  engaged,  correspondents  levied  e7i  masse.  The 
invasion  of  Xerxes  on  the  Greeks  was  not  more  munificently 
provided  for  than  that  of  The  Capitalist  upon  the  credulity  and 
avarice  of  mankind. 

But  as  Providence  bestows  upon  fishes  the  instrument  of 
fins,  whereby  they  balance  and  direct  their  movements,  how- 
ever rapid  and  erratic,  through  the  pathless  deeps  ;  so  to  the 
cold-blooded  creatures  of  our  own  species,  that  may  be  classed 
under  the  genus  money-makers,  the  same  protective  power 
accords  the  fin-like  properties  of  prudence  and  caution,  where- 
with your  true  money-getter  buoys  and  guides  himself  majes- 
tically through  the  great  seas  of  speculation.  In  short,  the 
fishes  the  net  was  cast  for  were  all  scared  from  the  surface  at 
the  first  splash.  They  came  round  and  smelt  at  the  mesh 
with  their  sharp  bottle-noses,  and  then,  plying  those  invaluable 
fins,  made  off  as  fast  as  they  could — plunging  into  the  mud, 
hiding  themselves  under  rocks  and  coral  banks.  Metaphor 
apart,  the  capitalists  buttoned  up  their  pockets,  and  would 
have  nothing  to  say  to  their  namesake. 

Not  a  word  of  this  change,  so  abhorrent  to  all  the  notions 
of  poor  Augustine  Caxton,  had  been  breathed  to  him  by  Peck 
or  Tibbets.  He  ate,  and  slept,  and  worked  at  the  Great  Book, 
occasionally  wondermg  why  he  had  not  heard  of  the  advent 
of  the  Literary  Times,  unconscious  of  all  the  awful  responsi- 
bilities which  The  Capitalist  \i2i%  ^widixXvci^  on  him — knowing  no 
more  of  The  Capitalist  than  he  did  of  the  last  loan  of  the 
Rothschilds. 

Difficult  was  it  for  all  other  human  nature,  save  my  father's, 
not  to  breathe  an  indignant  anathema  on  the  scheming  head 
of  the  brother-in-law  who  had  thus  violated  the  most  sacred 
obligations  of  trust  and  kindred,  and  so  entangled  an  unsus- 
pecting recluse.     But,  to  give  even  Jack  Tibbets  his  due,  he 


252  THE   CAXT0K5. 

had  firmly  convinced  himself  that  The  Capitalist  would  make 
my  father's  fortune  ;  and  if  he  did  not  announce  to  him  the 
strange  and  anomalous  development  into  which  the  original 
sleeping  chrysalis  of  the  Literary  Times  had  taken  portentous 
wing,  it  was  purely  and  wholly  in  the  knowledge  that  my 
father's  "  prejudices,"  as  he  termed  them,  would  stand  in  the 
way  of  his  becoming  a  Croesus.  And,  in  fact,  Uncle  Jack  had 
believed  so  heartily  in  his  own  project,  that  he  had  put  himself 
thoroughly  into  Mr.  Peck's  power,  signed  bills  in  his  own 
name  to  some  fabulous  amount,  and  was  actually  now  in  the 
Fleet,  whence  his  penitential  and  despairing  confession  was 
dated,  arriving  simultaneously  with  a  short  letter  from  Mr. 
Peck,  wherein  that  respectable  printer  apprised  my  father  that 
he  had  continued,  at  his  own  risk,  the  publication  of  The 
Capitalist,  as  far  as  a  prudent  care  for  his  family  would  permit ; 
that  he  need  not  say  that  a  new  daily  journal  was  a  very  vast 
experiment ;  that  the  expense  of  such  a  paper  as  The  Capitalist 
was  immeasurably  greater  than  that  of  a  mere  literary  peri- 
odical, as  originally  suggested  ;  and  that  now,  being  con- 
strained to  come  upon  the  shareholders  for  the  sums  he  had 
advanced,  amounting  to  several  thousands,  he  requested  my 
father  to  settle  with  him  immediately — delicately  implying 
that  Mr.  Caxton  himself  might  settle  as  he  could  with  the 
other  shareholders,  most  of  whom,  he  grieved  to  add,  he  had 
been  misled  by  Mr.  Tibbets  into  believing  to  be  men  of  sub- 
stance, when  in  reality  they  were  men  of  straw. 

Nor  was  this  all  the  evil.  The  "Great  Anti-Bookseller 
Publishing  Society,"  which  had  maintained  a  struggling  exist- 
ence, evinced  by  advertisements  of  sundry  forthcoming  works 
of  solid  interest  and  enduring  nature,  wherein,  out  of  a  long 
list,  amidst  a  pompous  array  of  *'  Poems ";  **  Dramas  not 
intended  for  the  Stage  ";  Essays  by  Phileutheros,  Philanthro- 
pos,  Philopolis,  Philodemus,  and  Philalethes,"  stood  prom- 
inently forth,  "  The  History  of  Human  Error,  Vols.  I.  and 
n.,  quarto,  with  illustrations," — the  "Anti-Bookseller  Soci- 
ety," I  say,  that  had  hitherto  evinced  nascent  and  budding 
life  by  these  exfoliations  from  its  slender  stem,  died  of  a  sud- 
den blight,  the  moment  its  sun,  in  the  shape  of  Uncle  Jack, 
set  in  the  Cimmerian  regions  of  the  Fleet  ;  and  a  polite  letter 
from  another  printer  (O  William  Caxton,  William  Caxton  !  — 
fatal  progenitor  ! )  informing  my  father  of  this  event,  stated 
complimentarily  that  it  was  to  him,  "  as  the  most  respectable 
member  of  the  Association,"  that  the  said  printer  would  be 
compelled  to  look  for  expenses  incurred,  not  only  in  the  very 


THE    CAXTONS.  353 

costly  edition  of  the  "  History  of  Human  Error,"  but  for  those 
incurred  in  the  print  and  paper  devoted  to  "  Poems," 
"  Dramas  not  intended  for  the  Stage,"  "  Essays  by  Phileu- 
theros,  Philanthropos,  PhilopoHs,  Philodemus,  and  Philalethes," 
with  sundry  other  works,  no  doubt  of  a  very  valuable  nature, 
but  in  which  a  considerable  loss,  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view, 
must  be  necessarily  expected. 

I  own  that,  as  soon  as  I  had  mastered  the  above  agreeable 
facts,  and  ascertained  from  Mr.  Squills  that  my  father  really 
did  seem  to  have  rendered  himself  legally  liable  to  these 
demands,  I  leant  back  in  my  chair,  stunned  and  bewildered. 

"  So  you  see,"  said  my  father,  "  that  as  yet  we  are  contend- 
ing with  monsters  in  the  dark — in  the  dark  all  monsters  look 
larger  and  uglier.  Even  Augustus  Caesar,  though  certainly  he 
had  never  scrupled  to  make  as  many  ghosts  as  suited  his  con- 
venience, did  not  like  the  chance  of  a  visit  from  them,  and 
never  sat  alone  in  tenebris.  What  the  amount  of  the  sums 
claimed  from  me  may  be,  we  know  not ;  what  may  be  gained 
from  the  other  shareholders  is  equally  obscure  and  undefined. 
But  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  get  poor  Jack  out  of  prison." 

''  Uncle  Jack  out  of  prison  !  "  exclaimed  I  :  "  surely,  sir, 
that  is  carrying  forgiveness  too  far." 

"  Why,  he  would  not  have  been  in  prison  if  I  had  not  been 
so  blindly  forgetful  of  his  weakness,  poor  man  !  I  ought  to 
have  known  better.  But  my  vanity  misled  me  ;  I  must  needs 
publish  a  great  book,  as  if  (said  Mr.  Caxton,  looking  round 
the  shelves)  there  were  not  great  books  enough  in  the  world  ! 
I  must  needs,  too,  think  of  advancing  and  circulating  knowl- 
edge in  the  form  of  a  journal — I,  who  had  not  knowledge 
enough  of  the  character  of  my  own  brother-in  law  to  keep 
myself  from  ruin  !  Come  what  will,  I  should  think  myself  the 
meanest  of  men  to  let  that  poor  creature,  whom  I  ought  to  have 
considered  as  a  monomaniac,  rot  in  prison,  because  I,  Austin 
Caxton,  wanted  common-sense.  And  (concluded  my  father 
resolutely)  he  is  your  mother's  brother,  Pisistratus.  I  should 
have  gone  to  town  at  once  ;  but,  hearing  that  my  wife  had 
written  to  you,  I  waited  till  I  could  leave  her  to  the  com- 
panionship of  hope  and  comfort — two  blessings  that  smile 
upon  every  mother  in  the  face  of  a  son  like  you.  To-morrow 
I  go." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Squills  firmly  ;  "  as  your  medi- 
cal adviser,  I  forbid  you  to  leave  the  house  for  the  next  six 
days." 


254  THE   CAXTONS. 

CHAPTER  II. 

"  Sir,"  continued  Mr.  Squills,  biting  off  the  end  of  a  cigar 
which  he  pulled  from  his  pocket,  "  you  concede  to  me  that  it 
is  a  very  important  business  on  which  you  propose  to  go  to 
London." 

"  Of  that  there  is  no  doubt,"  replied  my  father. 

"  And  the  doing  of  business  well  or  ill  entirely  depends 
upon  the  habit  of  body  !  "  cried  Mr.  Squills  triumphantly, 
"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Caxton,  that  while  you  are  looking  so 
calm,  and  talking  so  quietly,  just  on  purpose  to  sustain  your 
son  and  delude  your  wife — do  you  know  that  your  pulse, 
which  is  naturally  little  more  than  sixty,  is  nearly  a  hundred  ? 
Do  you  know,  sir,  that  your  mucous  membranes  are  in  a  state 
of  high  irritation,  apparent  hy  the />a/>i7/a  at  the  tip  of  your 
tongue  ?  And  if,  with  a  pulse  like  this,  and  a  tongue  like 
that,  you  think  of  settling  money  matters  with  a  set  of  sharp- 
witted  tradesmen,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  you  are  a  ruined  man." 

"  But  " — began  my  father. 

"  Did  not  Squire  Rollick,"  pursued  Mr.  Squills — "  Squire 
Rollick,  the  hardest  head  at  a  bargain  I  know  of — did  not 
Squire  Rollick  sell  that  pretty  little  farm  of  his,  Scranny  Holt, 
for  thirty  per  cent,  below  its  value  ?  And  what  was  the  cause, 
sir? — the  whole  county  was  in  amaze  ! — what  was  the  cause, 
but  an  incipient,  simmering  attack  of  the  yellow  jaundice, 
which  made  him  take  a  gloomy  view  of  human  life,  and  the 
agricultural  interest  ?  On  the  other  hand,  did  not  Lawyer 
Cool,  the  most  prudent  man  in  the  three  kingdoms — Lawyer 
Cool,  who  was  so  methodical,  that  all  the  clocks  in  the  country 
were  set  by  his  watch — plunge  one  morning  head  over  heel-s 
into  a  frantic  speculation  for  cultivating  the  bogs  in  Ireland 
(his  watch  did  not  go  right  for  the  next  three  months,  which 
made  our  whole  shire  an  hour  in  advance  of  the  rest  of  En- 
gland) !  And  what  was  the  cause  of  that  nobody  knew,  till  I 
was  called  in,  and  found  the  cerebral  membrane  in  a  state  of 
acute  irritation,  probably  just  in  the  region  of  his  acquisitive- 
ness and  ideality.  No,  Mr.  Caxton,  you  will  stay  at  home, 
and  take  a  soothing  preparation  I  shall  send  you,  of  lettuce 
leaves  and  marsh-mallows.  But  I,"  continued  Squills,  light- 
ing his  cigar,  and  taking  two  determined  whiffs — "  but  /  will 
go  up  to  town  and  settle  the  business  for  you,  and  take  with 
me  this  young  gentleman,  whose  digestive  functions  are  just 
in  a  state  to  deal  safely  with  those  horrible  elements  of  dys- 
pepsia— the  L.  S.  D." 


THE    CAXTONS,  255 

As  he  spoke,  Mr.  Squills  set  his  foot  significantly  upon 
mine. 

"  But,"  resumed  my  father  mildly,  "  though  I  thank  you 
very  much,  Squills,  for  your  kind  offer,  I  do  not  recognize  the 
necessity  of  accepting  it.  I  am  not  so  bad  a  philosopher  as 
you  seem  to  imagine  ;  and  the  blow  I  have  received  has  not 
so  deranged  my  physical  organization  as  to  render  me  unfit  to 
transact  my  affar.rs." 

"  Hum  ! "  grunted  Squills,  starting  up  and  seizing  my 
father's  pulse  ;  "  ninety-six — ninety-six  if  a  beat  !  And  the 
tongue,  sir  ! " 

"  Pshaw  !  "  quoth  my  father,  "you  have  not  even  seen  my 
tongue  !  " 

"  No  need  of  that,  I  know  what  it  is  by  the  state  of  the  eye- 
lids— tip  scarlet,  sides  rough  as  a  nutmeg-grater  !  " 

"  Pshaw  !  "  again  said  my  father,  this  time  impatiently. 

"  Well,"  said  Squills  solemnly,  "  it  is  my  duty  to  say  (here 
my  mother  entered,  to  tell  me  that  supper  was  ready),  and  I 
say  it  to  you,  Mrs.  Caxton,  and  to  Mr.  Pisistratus  Caxton,  as 
the  parties  most  nearly  interested,  that  if  you,  sir,  go  to  Lon- 
don upon  this  matter,  I'll  not  answer  for  the  consequences." 

"  Oh  !  Austin,  Austin,"  cried  my  mother,  running  up  and 
throwing  her  arms  round  my  father's  neck  ;  while  I,  little  less 
alarmed  by  Squills's  serious  tone  and  aspect,  represented 
strongly  the  inutility  of  Mr.  Caxton's  personal  interference  at 
the  present  moment.  All  he  could  do  on  arriving  in  town 
would  be  to  put  the  matter  into  the  hands  of  a  good  lawyer, 
and  that  we  could  do  for  him  ;  it  would  be  time  enough  to 
send  for  him  when  the  extent  of  the  mischief  done  was  more 
clearly  ascertained.  Meanwhile  Squills  griped  my  father's 
pulse,  and  my  mother  hung  on  his  neck. 

"  Ninety-six — ninety-seven  !  "  groaned  Squills  in  a  hollow 
voice. 

"  I  don't  believe  it !  "  cried  my  father,  almost  in  a  passion — 
"  never  better  nor  cooler  in  my  life." 

"  And  the  tongue — look  at  his  tongue,  Mrs.  Caxton — a 
tongue,  ma'am,  so  bright  that  you  could  see  to  read  by  it !  " 

"  Oh  !   Austin,  Austin  !  " 

"  My  dear,  it  is  not  my  tongue  that  is  in  fault,  I  assure  you," 
said  my  father,  speaking  through  his  teeth  ;  "  and  the  man 
knows  no  more  of  my  tongue  than  he  does  of  the  Mysteries 
of  Eleusis." 

"  Put  it  out  then,"  exclaimed  Squills,  '*  and  if  it  be  not  as  I 
say,  you  have  my  leave  to   go  to   London,  and   throw   your 


256  THE     CAXTONS. 

whole  fortune  into  the  two  great  pits  you  have  dug  for  it. 
Put  it  out  !  " 

"  Mr.  Squills  !  "  said  my  father,  coloring — "  Mr.  Squills,  for 
shame  !  " 

"  Dear,  dear,  Austin  !  your  hand  is  so  hot — you  are  feverish, 
I  am  sure." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it." 

"  But,  sir,  only  just  gratify  Mr.  Squills,"  said  I  coaxingly. 

"  There,  there  ! '  said  my  father,  fairly  baited  into  submis- 
sion, and  shyly  exhibiting  for  a  moment  the  extremest  end  of 
the  vanquished  organ  of  eloquence. 

Squills  darted  forward  his  lynx-like  eyes.  "  Red  as  a  lob- 
ster, and  rough  as  a  gooseberry-bush  ! "  cried  Squills,  in  a 
tone  of  savage  joy. 

CHAPTER  III. 

How  was  it  possible  for  one  poor  tongue,  so  reviled  and 
persecuted,  so  humbled,  insulted,  and  triumphed  over,  to  resist 
three  tongues  in  league  against  it? 

Finally,  my  father  yielded,  and  Squills,  in  high  spirits, 
declared  that  he  would  go  to  supper  with  me,  to  see  that  I  ate 
nothing  that  could  tend  to  discredit  his  reliance  on  my  system. 
Leaving  my  mother  still  with  her  Austin,  the  good  surgeon 
then  took  my  arm,  and,  as  soon  as  we  were  in  the  next  room, 
shut  the  door  carefully,  wiped  his  forehead,  and  said  :  "  I 
think  we  have  saved  him  !" 

"Would  it  really,  then,  have  injured  my  father  so  much?" 

"  So  much  !  Why,  you  foolish  young  man,  don't  you  see 
that,  with  his  ignorance  of  business,  where  he  himself  is  con- 
cerned— though,  for  any  other  one's  business,  neither  Rollick 
nor  Cool  has  a  better  judgment — and  with  his  d — d  Quixotic 
spirit  of  honor  worked  up  into  a  state  of  excitement,  he  would 
have  rushed  to  Mr.  Tibbets,  and  exclaimed  :  *  How  much  do 
you  owe  ?  There  it  is  !  ' — settled  in  the  same  way  with  these 
printers,  and  come  back  without  a  sixpence  ;  whereas  you  and 
1  can  look  coolly  about  us,  and  reduce  the  inflammation  to  the 
minimum  ! " 

"  I  see,  and  thank  you  heartily,  Squills." 

"  Besides,"  said  the  surgeon,  with  more  feeling,  "  your 
father  has  really  been  making  a  noble  effort  over  himself. 
He  suffers  more  than  you  would  think — not  for  himself  (for  I 
do  believe  that,  if  he  were  alone  in  the  world,  he  would  be 
quite  contented  if  he  could  save  fifty  pounds  a  year  and  his 


THE    CAXT0N5.  257 

books),  but  for  your  mother  and  yourself  ;  atid  a  fresh  access 
of  emotional  excitement,  all  the  nervous  anxiety  of  a  journey 
to  London  on  such  a  business,  might  have  ended  in  a  paralytic 
or  epileptic  affection.  Now  we  have  him  here  snug  ;  and  the 
worst  news  we  can  give  him  will  be  better  than  what  he  will 
make  up  his  mind  for.     But  you  don't  eat." 

"  Eat !     How  can  I  ?     My  poor  father  !  " 

"  The  effect  of  grief  upon  the  gastric  juices,  through  the 
nervous  system,  is  very  remarkable,"  said  Mr.  Squills  philo- 
sophically, and  helping  himself  to  a  broiled  bone :  "  it 
increases  the  thirst,  while  it  takes  away  hunger.  No — don't 
touch  port  ! — heating  !     Sherry  and  water." 

CHAPTER   IV. 

The  house-door  had  closed  upon  Mr.  Squills — that  gentle- 
man having  promised  to  breakfast  with  me  the  next  morning, 
so  that  we  might  take  the  coach  from  our  gate — and  I 
remained  alone,  seated  by  the  supper-table,  and  revolving  all 
I  had  heard,  when  my  father  walked  in. 

"  Pisistratus,"  said  he  gravely,  and  looking  round  him, 
"  your  mother  ! — suppose  the  worst — your  first  care,  then,  must 
be  to  try  and  secure  something  for  her.  You  and  I  are  men — 
we  can -never  want,  while  we  have  health  of  mind  and  body  ; 
but  a  woman — and  if  anything  happens  to  me — " 

My  father's  lip  writhed  as  it  uttered  these  brief  sentences. 

"  My  dear,  dear  father  !  "  said  I,  suppressing  my  tears  with 
difficulty,  "  all  evils,  as  you  yourself  said,  look  worse  by  antici- 
pation. It  is  impossible  that  your  whole  fortune  can  be 
involved.  The  newspaper  did  not  run  many  weeks  ;  and  only 
the  first  volume  of  your  work  is  printed.  Besides,  there  must 
be  other  shareholders  who  will  pay  their  quota.  Believe  me,  I 
feel  sanguine  as  to  the  result  of  my  embassy.  As  for  my  poor 
mother,  it  is  not  the  loss  of  fortune  that  will  wound  her  ; 
depend  on  it,  she  thinks  very  little  of  that ;  it  is  the  loss  of 
your  confidence." 

"  My  confidence  !  " 

"  Ah  yes  !  tell  her  all  your  fears,  as  your  hopes.  Do  not 
let  your  affectionate  pity  exclude  her  from  one  corner  of  your 
heart." 

"  It  is  that — it  is  that,  Austin — my  husband — my  joy — my 
pride — my  soul — my  all  !  "  cried  a  soft,  broken  voice.  ' 

My  mother  had  crept  in,  unobserved  by  us. 

My  father  looked  at  us  both,  and  the  tears  which  had  before 


258  THE    CAXTONS. 

Stood  in  his  eyes  forced  their  way.  Then  opening  his  arms — 
into  which  his  Kitty  threw  herself  joyfully — he  lifted  those 
moist  eyes  upward,  and,  by  the  movement  of  his  lips,  I  saw 
that  he  thanked  God. 

I  stole  out  of  the  room.  I  felt  that  those  two  hearts  should 
be  left  to  beat  and  to  blend  alone.  And  from  that  hour  I  am 
convinced  that  Augustine  Caxton  acquired  a  stouter  philosophy 
than  that  of  the  stoics.  The  fortitude  that  concealed  pain  was 
no  longer  needed,  for  the  pain  was  no  longer  felt. 

CHAPTER  V. 

Mr.  Squills  and  I  performed  our  journey  without  adven- 
ture, and,  as  we  were  not  alone  on  the  coach,  with  little  con- 
versation. We  put  up  at  a  small  inn  at  the  city,  and  the  next 
morning  I  sallied  forth  to  see  Trevanion — for  we  agreed  that 
he  would  be  the  best  person  to  advise  us.  But,  on  arriving 
at  St.  James's  Square,  I  had  the  disappointment  of  hearing 
that  the  whole  family  had  gone  to  Paris  three  days  before,  and 
were  not  expected  to  return  till  the  meeting  of  Parliament. 

This  was  a  sad  discouragement,  for  I  had  counted  much 
on  Trevanion's  clear  head,  and  that  extraordinary  range  of 
accomplishment  in  all  matters  of  business — all  that  related  to 
practical  life — which  my  old  patron  pre-eminently  possessed. 
The  next  thing  would  be  to  find  Trevanion's  lawyer  (for  Tre- 
vanion was  one  of  those  men  whose  solicitors  are  sure  to  be 
able  and  active).  But  the  fact  was  that  he  left  so  little  to  law- 
yers, that  he  had  never  had  occasion  to  communicate  with  one 
since  I  had  known  him  ;  and  I  was  therefore  in  ignorance  of 
the  very  name  of  his  solicitor  ;  nor  could  the  porter,  who  was 
left  in  charge  of  the  house,  enlighten  me.  Luckily,  I  be- 
thought myself  of  Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert,  who  could  scarcely 
fail  to  give  me  the  information  required,  and  who,  at  all 
events,  might  recommend  to  me  some  other  lawyer.  So  to 
him  I  went. 

I  found  Sir  Sedley  at  breakfast  with  a  young  gentleman  who 
seemed  about  twenty.  The  good  baronet  was  delighted  to  see 
me  ;  but  I  thought  it  was  with  a  little  confusion,  rare  to  his 
cordial  ease,  that  he  presented  me  to  his  cousin,  Lord  Castle- 
ton.  It  was  a  name  familiar  to  me,  though  I  had  never  before 
met  its  patrician  owner. 

The  Marquis  of  Castleton  was  indeed  a  subject  of  envy  to 
young  idlers,  and  afforded  a  theme  of  interest  to  graybeard 
politicians,     Often  had  I  heard,  of  '<  that  lucky  fellow  Castl^^ 


THE     CAXTONS.  a!59 

ton,"  who,  when  of  age,  would  step  into  one  of  those  colossal 
fortunes  which  would  realize  the  dreams  of  Aladdin — a  fortune 
that  had  been  out  to  nurse  since  his  minority.  Often  had  1 
heard  graver  gossips  wonder  whether  Castleton  would  take 
any  active  part  in  public  life — whether  he  would  keep  up  the 
family  influence.  His  mother  (still  alive)  was  a  superior 
woman,  and  had  devoted  herself,  from  his  childhood,  to  supply 
a  father's  loss,  and  fit  him  for  his  great  position.  It  was  said 
that  he  was  clever  ;  had  been  educated  by  a  tutor  of  great 
academic  distinction,  and  was  reading  for  a  double  first  class  at 
Oxford.  This  young  marquis  was  indeed  the  head  of  one  of 
those  few  houses  still  left  in  England  that  retain  feudal  im- 
portance. He  was  important,  not  only  from  his  rank  and  his 
vast  fortune,  but  from  an  immense  circle  of  powerful  connec- 
tions ;  from  the  ability  of  his  two  predecessors,  who  had  been 
keen  politicians  and  cabinet  ministers  ;  from  the  prestige  they 
had  bequeathed  to  his  name  ;  from  the  peculiar  nature  of  his 
property,  which  gave  him  the  returning  interest  in  no  less  than 
six  parliamentary  seats  in  Great  Britain  and  Ireland — besides 
the  indirect  ascendency  which  the  head  of  the  Castletons  had 
always  exercised  over  many  powerful  and  noble  allies  of  that 
princely  house.  I  was  not  aware  that  he  was  related  to  Sir 
Sedley,  whose  world  of  action  was  so  remote  from  politics  ; 
and  it  was  with  some  surprise  that  I  now  heard  that  announce- 
ment, and  certainly  with  some  interest  that  I,  perhaps  from 
the  verge  of  poverty,  gazed  on  this  young  heir  of  fabulous  El 
Dorados. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  Lord  Castleton  had  been  brought  up 
with  a  careful  knowledge  of  his  future  greatness,  and  its  serious 
responsibilities.  He  stood  immeasurably  aloof  from  all  the 
affectations  common  to  the  youth  of  minor  patricians.  He 
had  not  been  taught  to  value  himself  on  the  cut  of  a  coat,  or 
the  shape  of  a  hat.  His  world  was  far  above  St.  James's 
Street  and  the  clubs.  He  was  dressed  plainly,  though  in  a 
style  peculiar  to  himself — a  white  neckcloth  (which  was  not  at 
that  day  quite  so  uncommon  for  morning  use  as  it  is  now), 
trousers  without  straps,  thin  shoes  and  gaiters.  In  his  manner 
there  was  nothing  of  the  supercilious  apathy  which  character- 
izes the  dandy  introduced  to  some  one  whom  he  doubts  if  he 
can  nod  to  from  the  bow-window  at  White's — none  of  such 
vulgar  coxcombries  had  Lord  Castleton  ;  and  yet  a  young  gen- 
tleman more  emphatically  coxcomb  it  was  impossible  to  see. 
He  had  been  told,  no  doubt,  that,  as  the  head  of  a  house 
which  was  almost  in  itself  a  party  in  the  state,  he  should  bq 


a6o  THE    CAXTONS. 

bland  and  civil  to  all  men  ;  and  this  duty  being  grafted  upon 
a  nature  singularly  cold  and  unsocial,  gave  to  his  politeness 
something  so  stiff,  yet  so  condescending,  that  it  brought  the 
blood  to  one's  cheek,  though  the  momentary  anger  was  coun- 
terbalanced by  a  sense  of  the  almost  ludicrous  contrast  between 
this  gracious  majesty  of  deportment,  and  the  insignificant 
figure,  with  the  boyish,  beardless  face,  by  which  it  was  assumed. 
Lord  Castleton  did  not  content  himself  with  a  mere  bow  at 
our  introduction.  Much  to  my  wonder  how  he  came  by  the 
information  he  displayed,  he  made  me  a  little  speech  after  the 
manner  of  Louis  XIV.  to  a  provincial  noble — studiously 
modelled  upon  that  royal  maxim  of  urbane  policy  which 
instructs  a  king  that  he  should  know  something  of  the  birth, 
parentage,  and  family  of  his  meanest  gentleman.  It  was  a 
little  speech,  in  which  my  father's  learning,  and  my  uncle's 
services,  and  the  amiable  qualities  of  your  humble  servant, 
were  neatly  interwoven — delivered  in  a  falsetto  tone,  as  if 
learned  by  heart,  though  it  must  have  been  necessarily  im- 
promptu ;  and  then,  reseating  himself,  he  made  a  gracious 
motion  of  the  head  and  hand,  as  if  to  authorize  me  to  do  the 
same. 

Conversation  succeeded,  by  galvanic  jerks  and  spasmodic 
starts — a  conversation  that  Lord  Castleton  contrived  to  tug 
so  completely  out  of  poor  Sir  Sedley's  ordinary  course  of 
small  and  polished  small-talk,  that  that  charming  personage, 
accustomed,  as  he  well  deserved,  to  be  Coryphaeus  at  his 
own  table,  was  completely  silenced.  With  his  light  reading, 
his  rich  stores  of  anecdote,  his  good-humored  knowledge  of 
the  drawing-room  world,  he  had  scarce  a  word  that  would 
fit  into  the  great,  rough,  serious  matters  which  Lord  Castleton 
threw  upon  the  table,  as  he  nibbled  his  toast.  Nothing  but 
the  most  grave  and  practical  subjects  of  human  interest  seemed 
to  attract  this  future  leader  of  mankind.  The  fact  is  that 
Lord  Castleton  had  been  taught  everything  that  relates  \.q  prop- 
erty (a  knowledge  which  embraces  a  very  wide  circumference). 
It  had  been  said  to  him  :  "  You  will  be  an  immense  proprie- 
tor— knowledge  is  essential  to  your  self-preservation.  You 
wiiil  be  puzzled,  bubbled,  ridiculed,  duped  every  day  of  your 
life,  if  you  do  not  make  yourself  acquainted  with  all  by  which 
property  is  assailed  or  defended,  impoverished  or  increased. 
You  have  a  vast  stake  in  the  country  ;  you  must  learn  all  the 
interests  of  Europe — nay,  of  the  civilized  world — for  those 
interests  react  on  the  country,  and  the  interests  of  the  country 
arc  of  the  greatest  possible  consequence  to  the  interests  of 


THE    CAXTONS.  i6t 

the  Marquis  of  Castleton."  Thus  the  state  of  the  Continent  ; 
the  policy  of  Metternich  ;  the  condition  of  the  Papacy  ;  the 
growth  of  Dissent  ;  the  proper  mode  of  dealing  with  the  gen- 
eral spirit  of  Democracy,  which  was  the  epidemic  of  Euro- 
pean monarchies  ;  the  relative  proportions  of  the  agricultural 
and  manufacturing  population — corn-laws,  currency,  and  the 
laws  that  regulate  wages  ;  a  criticism  on  the  leading  speakers 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  with  some  discursive  observations 
on  the  importance  of  fattening  cattle  ;  the  introduction  of 
flax  into  Ireland  ;  emigration  ;  the  condition  of  the  poor  ;  the 
doctrines  of  Mr.  Owen  ;  the  pathology  of  potatoes;  the  con- 
nection between  potatoes,  pauperism,  and  patriotism  ;  these, 
and  such-like  stupendous  subjects  for  reflection — all  branch- 
ing more  or  less  intricately  from  the  single  idea  of  the  Castle- 
ton property — the  young  lord  discussed  and  disposed  of  in 
half-a-dozen  prim,  poised  sentences,  evincing,  I  must  say  in 
justice,  no  inconsiderable  information,  and  a  mighty  solemn 
turn  of  mind.  The  oddity  was,  that  the  subjects  so  selected 
and  treated  should  not  come  rather  from  some  young  barris- 
ter, or  mature  political  economist,  than  from  so  gorgeous  a 
lily  of  the  field.  Of  a  man  less  elevated  in  rank  one  would 
certainly  have  said,  "  Cleverish,  but  a  prig  "  ;  but  there  really 
was  something  so  respectable  in  a  personage  born  to  such  for- 
tunes, and  having  nothing  to  do  but  to  bask  in  the  sunshine, 
voluntarily  taking  such  pains  with  himself,  and  condescend- 
ing to  identify  his  own  interests — the  interests  of  the  Castle- 
ton property — with  the  concerns  of  his  lesser  fellow-mortals, 
that  one  felt  the  young  marquis  had  in  him  the  stuff  to  become 
a  very  considerable  man. 

Poor  Sir  Sedley,  to  whom  all  these  matters  were  as  un- 
familiar as  the  theology  of  the  Talmud,  after  some  vain  efforts 
to  slide  the  conversation  into  easier  grooves,  fairly  gave  in, 
and,  with  a  compassionate  smile  on  his  handsome  countenance, 
took  refuge  in  his  easy-chair  and  the  contemplation  of  his 
snuff-box. 

At  last,  to  our  great  relief,  the  servant  announced  Lord 
Castleton's  carriage ;  and  with  another  speech  of  overpower- 
ing affability  to  me,  and  a  cold  shake  of  the  hand  to  Sir 
Sedley,  Lord  Castleton  went  his  way. 

The  breakfast  parlor  looked  on  the  street,  and  I  turned 
mechanically  to  the  window  as  Sir  Sedley  followed  his  guest 
out  of  the  room,  A  travelling  carriage,  with  four  post-horses, 
was  at  the  door ;  and  a  servant,  who  looked  like  a  foreigner, 
was  in  waiting  with  his  master's  cloak.     As  I  saw  Lord  Castle* 


«62  THE    CAXTONS. 

ton  step  into  the  street,  and  wrap  himself  in  his  costly  mantle 
lined  with  sables,  I  observed,  more  than  I  had  while  he  was  in 
the  room,  the  enervate  sliglitness  of  his  frail  form,  and  the 
more  than  paleness  of  his  thin,  joyless  face ;  and  then,  instead 
of  envy,  I  felt  compassion  for  the  owner  of  all  this  pomp  and 
grandeur — felt  that  I  would  not  have  exchanged  my  hardy 
health,  and  easy  humor,  and  vivid  capacities  of  enjoyment  in 
things  the  slightest  and  most  within  the  reach  of  all  men,  for 
the  wealth  and  greatness  which  that  poor  youth  perhaps 
deserved  the  more  for  putting  them  so  little  to  the  service  of 
pleasure. 

"  Well,"  said  Sir  Sedley,  "and  what  do  you  think  of  hira  !  " 

"  He  is  just  the  sort  of  man  Trevanion  would  like,"  said  I 
evasively. 

"  That  is  true,"  answered  Sir  Sedley,  in  a  serious  tone  of 
voice,  and  looking  at  me  somewhat  earnestly.  "  Have  you 
heard  ? — but  no,  you  cannot  have  heard  yet." 

"  Heard  what  ? " 

"  My  dear  young  friend,"  said  the  kindest  and  most  delicate 
of  all  fine  gentlemen,  sauntering  away  that  he  might  not 
observe  the  emotion  he  caused,  "Lord  Castleton  is  going  to 
Paris  to  join  the  Trevanions.  The  object  Lady  Ellinor  has 
had  at  heart  for  many  a  long  year  is  won,  and  our  pretty 
Fanny  will  be  Marchioness  of  Castleton  when  her  betrothed  is 
of  age — that  is,  in  six  months.  The  two  mothers  have  settled 
it  all  between  them  !  " 

I  made  no  answer,  but  continued  to  look  out  of  the  window, 

"This  alliance,"  resumed  Sir  Sedley,  "was  all  that  was 
wanting  to  assure  Trevanion's  position.  When  Parliament 
meets,  he  will  have  some  great  office.  Poor  man  !  how  I  shall 
pity  him  !  It  is  extraordinary  to  me,"  continued  Sir  Sedley, 
benevolently  going  on,  that  I  might  have  full  time  to  recover 
myself,  "  how  contagious  that  disease  called  '  business '  is  in 
our  foggy  England  !  Not  only  Trevanion,  you  see,  has  the 
complaint  in  its  very  worst  and  most  complicated  form,  but 
that  poor  dear  cousin  of  mine,  who  is  so  young  (here  Sir  Sed- 
ley sighed),  and  might  enjoy  himself  so  much,  is  worse  than 
you  were  when  Trevanion  was  fagging  you  to  death.  But,  to 
be  sure,  a  great  name  and  position,  like  Castleton's,  must  be 
a  very  heavy  affliction  to  a  conscientious  mind.  You  see  how 
the  sense  of  its  responsibilities  has  «^^^  him  already — positively, 
two  great  wrinkles  under  his  eyes.  Well,  after  all,  I  admire 
him  and  respect  his  tutor  :  a  soil  naturally  very  thin,  I  suspect, 
has  been  most  carefully  cultivated ;  and  Castleton,  with  Tre- 


THE    CAiCTON^.  263 

^anion's  help,  will  be  the  first  man  in  the  peerage — prime 
minister  some  day,  I  dare  say.  And  when  I  think  of  it,  how 
grateful  I  ought  to  feel  to  his  father  and  mother,  who  pro. 
duced  him  quite  in  their  old  age  ;  for,  if  he  had  not  been  born, 
I  should  have  been  the  most  miserable  of  men — yes,  positively, 
that  horrible  marquisate  would  have  come  to  me  !  I  never 
think  over  Horace  Walpole's  regrets,  when  he  got  the  earl- 
dom of  Orford,  without  the  deepest  sympathy,  and  without  a 
shudder  at  the  thought  of  what  my  dear  Lady  Castleton  was 
kind  enough  to  save  me  from — all  owing  to  the  Ems  waters, 
after  twenty  years'  marriage  !  Well,  my  young  friend,  and 
how  are  all  at  home  ?" 

As  when,  some  notable  performer  not  having  yet  arrived 
behind  the  scenes,  or  having  to  change  his  dress,  or  not  hav- 
ing yet  quite  recovered  an  unlucky  extra  tumbler  of  exciting 
fluids — and  the  green  curtain  has  therefore  unduly  delayed  its 
ascent — you  perceive  that  the  thorough-bass  in  the  orchestra 
charitably  devotes  himself  to  a  prelude  of  astonishing  prolixity 
calling  in  Lodoiska  or  Der  Freischutz  to  beguile  the  time,  and 
allow  the  procrastinating  histrio  leisure  sufficient  to  draw  on 
his  flesh-colored  pantaloons,  and  give  himself  the  proper  com- 
plexion for  a  Coriolanus  or  Macbeth — even  so  had  Sir  Sedley 
made  that  long  speech,  requiring  no  rejoinder,  till  he  saw  the 
time  had  arrived  when  he  could  artfully  close  with  the  flourish 
of  a  final  interrogative,  in  order  to  give  poor  Pisistratus  Cax- 
ton  all  preparation  to  compose  himself  and  step  forward. 
There  is  certainly  something  of  exquisite  kindness,  and  thought- 
ful benevolence,  in  that  rarest  of  gifts, — fine  breeding;  and 
when  now,  remanned  and  resolute,  I  turned  round  and  saw  Sir 
Sedley's  soft  blue  eye  shyly,  but  benignantly,  turned  to  me, 
while,  with  a  grace  no  other  snuff-taker  ever  had  since  the 
days  of  Pope,  he  gently  proceeded  to  refresh  himself  by  a 
pinch  of  the  celebrated  Beaudesert  mixture,  I  felt  my  heart  as 
gratefully  moved  towards  him  as  if  he  had  conferred  on  me 
some  colossal  obligation.  And  this  crowning  question  :  "And 
how  are  all  at  home  ? "  restored  me  entirely  to  my  self-pos- 
session, and  for  the  moment  distracted  the  bitter  current  of 
my  thoughts. 

I  replied  by  a  brief  statement  of  my  father's  involvement, 
disguising  our  apprehensions  as  to  its  extent,  speaking  of  it 
rather  as  an  annoyance  than  a  possible  cause  of  ruin,  and 
ended  by  asking  Sir  Sedley  to  give  me  the  address  of  Tre- 
vanion's  lawyer. 

The  good  baronet  listened  with  great  attention  ;  and  that 


264  THE    CAXTONS. 

quick  penetration  which  belongs  to  a  man  of  the  world  enabled 
him  to  detect,  that  1  had  smoothed  over  matters  more  than 
became  a  faithful  narrator. 

He  shook  his  head,  and,  seating  himself  on  the  sofa,  mo- 
tioned me  to  come  to  his  side  ;  then,  leaning  his  arm  over  my 
shoulder,  he  said  in  his  seductive,  winning  way  : 

"  We  two  young  fellows  should  understand  each  other  when 
we  talk  of  money  matters.  I  can  say  to  you  what  I  could  not 
say  to  my  respectable  senior — by  three  years  ;  your  excellent 
father.  Frankly,  then,  I  suspect  this  is  a  bad  business.  I 
know  little  about  newspapers,  except  that  I  have  to  subscribe 
to  one  in  my  county,  which  costs  me  a  small  income  ;  but  I 
know  that  a  London  daily  paper  might  ruin  a  man  in  a  few 
weeks.  And  as  for  shareholders,  my  dear  Caxton,  I  was  once 
teased  into  being  a  shareholder  in  a  canal  that  ran  through 
my  property,  and  ultimately  ran  off  with  ;^3o,ooo  of  it  !  The 
other  shareholders  were  all  drowned  in  the  canal,  like  Pharaoh 
and  his  host  in  the  Red  Sea.  But  your  father  is  a  great 
scholar,  and  must  not  be  plagued  with  such  matters.  1  owe 
him  a  great  deal.  He  was  very  kind  to  me  at  Cambridge,  and 
gave  me  the  taste  for  reading  to  which  I  owe  the  pleasantest 
hours  of  my  life.  So,  when  you  and  the  lawyers  have  found 
out  what  the  extent  of  the  mischief  is,  you  and  I  must  see 
how  we  can  best  settle  it.  What  the  deuce  !  my  young  friend, 
I  have  no  '  encumbrances,'  as  the  servants,  with  great  want  of 
politeness,  call  wives  and  children.  And  I  am  not  a  miserable 
great  landed  millionnaire,  like  that  poor  dear  Castleton,  who 
owes  so  many  duties  to  society  i;hat  he  can't  spend  a  shilling, 
except  in  a  grand  way,  and  purely  to  benefit  the  public.  So 
go,  my  boy,  to  Trevanion's  lawyer  :  he  is  mine  too.  Clever 
fellow — sharp  as  a  needle,  Mr.  Pike,  in  Great  Ormond  Street — 
name  on  a  brass  plate  ;  and  when  he  has  settled  the  amount, 
we  young  scapegraces  will  help  each  other,  without  a  word  to 
the  old  folks." 

What  good  it  does  to  a  man,  throughout  life,  to  meet  kind- 
ness and  generosity  like  this  in  his  youth  ! 

1  need  not  say  that  I  was  too  faithful  a  representative  of 
my  father's  scholarly  pride,  and  susceptible  independence  of 
spirit,  to  accept  this  proposal  ;  and  probably  Sir  Sedley,  rich 
and  liberal  as  he  was,  did  not  dream  of  the  extent  to  which 
his  proposal  might  involve  him.  But  I  expressed  my  grati- 
tude so  as  to  please  and  move  this  last  relic  of  the  De  Cover- 
leys,  and  went  from  his  house  straight  to  Mr.  Pike's  office, 
with  a  little  note  of  introduction  from  Sir  Sedley.     I   found 


THE   CAXTONS.  265 

Mr.  Pike  exactly  the  man  I  had  anticipated  from  Trevanion's 
character — short,  quick,  intelligent,  in  question  and  answer  ; 
imposing,  and  somewhiit  domineering,  in  manner  ;  not  over- 
crowded with  business,  but  with  enough  for  experience  and 
respectiibility  ;  neither  young  nor  old  ;  neither  a  pedantic 
machine  of  parchment,  nor  a  jaunty,  off-hand  coxcomb  of 
West  End  manners. 

"  It  is  an  ugly  affair,"  said  he,  "  but  one  that  requires  man- 
agement. Leave  it  all  in  my  hands  for  three  days.  Don't  go 
near  Mr.  Tibbets,  nor  Mr.  Peck  :  and  on  Saturday  next,  at 
two  o'clock,  if  you  will  call  here,  you  shall  know  my  opinion 
of  the  whole  matter."  With  that  Mr.  Pike  glanced  at  the 
clock,  and  I  took  up  my  hat  and  went. 

There  is  no  place  more  delightful  than  a  great  capital,  if 
you  are  comfortably  settled  in  it — have  arranged  the  method- 
ical disposal  of  your  time,  and  know  how  to  take  business  and 
pleasure  in  due  proportions.  But  a  flying  visit  to  a  great 
capital,  in  an  unsettled,  unsatisfactory  way — at  an  inn — an  inn 
in  the  City,  too — with  a  great  worrying  load  of  business  on 
your  mind,  of  which  you  are  to  hear  no  more  for  three  days  ; 
and  an  aching,  jealous,  miserable  sorrow  at  the  heart,  such  as 
I  had — leaving  you  no  labor  to  pursue,  and  no  pleasure  that 
you  have  the  heart  to  share  in — oh,  a  great  capital  then  is 
indeed  forlorn,  wearisome,  and  oppressive  !  It  is  the  Castle 
of  Indolence,  not  as  Thomson  built  it,  but  as  Beckford  drew 
in  his  Hall  of  Eblis — a  wandering  up  and  down,  to  and  fro  ; 
a  great,  awful  space  with  your  hand  pressed  to  your  heart  ; 
and — oh  for  a  rush  on  some  half-tamed  horse,  through  the 
measureless  greea  wastes  of  Australia!  That  is  the  place  for 
a  man  who  has  no  home  in  the  Babel,  and  whose  hand  is  ever 
pressing  to  his  heart,  with  its  dull,  burning  pain. 

Mr.  Squills  decoyed  me  the  second  evening  into  one  of  the 
small  theatres  ;  and  very  heartily  did  Mr.  Squills  enjoy  all  he 
saw,  and  all  he  heard.  And  while,  with  a  convulsive  effort  of  the 
jaws,  I  was  trying  to  laugh,  too.  suddenly  in  one  of  the  actors, 
who  was  performing  the  worshipful  part  of  a  parish  beadle, 
I  recognized  a  face  that  I  had  seen  before.  Five  minutes 
afterwards  I  had  disappeared  from  the  side  of  Squills,  and  was 
amidst  that  strange  world — behind  the  scenes. 

My  beadle  was  much  too  busy  and  important  to  allow  me  a 
good  opportunity  to  accost  him,  till  the  piece  was  over.  I 
then  seized  hold  of  him,  as  he  was  amicably  sharing  a  pot  of 
porter  with  a  gentleman  in  black  shorts  and  a  laced  waistcoat, 
who  was  to  play  the  part  of  a  broken-hearted  father  in  the 


266  THE   CAXTONS. 

Domestic  Drama  in  Three  Acts,  that  would  conclude  the 
amusements  of  the  evening. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  I  apologetically  ;  "  but  as  the  Swan  per- 
tinently observes  :     'Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot?" 

"The  Swan,  sir," cried  the  beadle  aghast — "  the  Swan  never 
demeaned  himself  by  such  d — d  broad  Scotch  as  that  !  " 

"  The  Tweed  has  its  swans  as  well  as  the  Avon,  Mr.  Pea- 
cock." 

"  St — st — hush — hush — h-u-s-h  !  "  whispered  the  beadle  in 
great  alarm,  and  eyeing  me,  with  savage  observation,  under 
his  corked  eyebrows.  Then,  taking  me  by  the  arm,  he  jerked 
me  away.  When  he  had  got  as  far  as  the  narrow  limits  of  that 
little  stage  would  allow,  Mr.  Peacock  said  : 

"  Sir,  you  have  the  advantage  of  me  ;  I  don't  remember 
you.  Ah  !  you  need  not  look  ! — by  gad,  sir,  I  am  not  to  be 
bullied, — it  was  all  fair  play.  If  you  will  play  with  gentlemen, 
sir,  you  must  run  the  consequences." 

I  hastened  to  appease  the  worthy  man. 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Peacock,  if  you  remember,  I  refused  to  play 
with  you  ;  and,  so  far  from  wishing  to  offend  you,  I  now  come  on 
purpose  to  compliment  you  on  your  excellent  acting,  and  to 
inquire  if  you  have  heard  anything  lately  of  your  young  friend 
Mr.  Vivian." 

"  Vivian  ? — never  heard  the  name,  sir.  Vivian  I  Pooh,  you 
are  trying  to  hoax  me  ;  very  good  !  " 

"  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Peac — " 

"  St — st — How  the  deuce  did  you  know  that  I  was  once 
called  Peac — that  is  people  called  me  Peac — A  friendly  nick- 
name, no  more — drop  it,  sir,  or  you  '  touch  me  with  noble 
anger '  !  " 

"  Well,  well ;  *  the  rose  by  any  name  will  smell  as  sweet,'  as 
the  Swan,  this  time  at  least  judiciously,  observes.  But,  Mr. 
Vivian,  too,  seems  to  have  other  names  at  his  disposal.  I 
mean  a  young,  dark,  handsome  man — or  rather  boy — with 
whom  I  met  you  in  company  by  the  roadside,  one  morning." 

"  0-h,"  said  Mr.  Peacock,  looking  much  relieved,  "  I  know 
whom  you  mean,  though  I  don't  remember  to  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  before.  No  ;  I  have  not  heard  any- 
thing of  the  young  man  lately.  I  wish  I  did  know  something 
of  him.  He  was  a  '  gentleman  in  my  own  way.'  Sweet  Will 
has  hit  him  off  to  a  hair  ! — 

•  The  courtier's,  soldier's,  scholar's  eye,  tongue,  sword.' 

Such  a  hand  with  a  cue ! — you  should  have  seen  him  seek  the 


THE    CAXTONS.  267 

*  bubble  reputation  at  the  cannon  s  mouth.*  I  may  say,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Peacock  emphatically,  "  that  he  was  a  regular 
trump — trump  ! "  he  reiterated  with  a  start,  as  if  the  word  had 
stung  him — "  trump  !  he  was  a  brick  !  " 

Then  fixing  his  eyes  on  me,  dropping  his  arms,  interlacing 
his  fingers,  in  the  manner  recorded  of  Talma  in  the  celebrated 
"  Qu'en  dis-tu  ?  "  he  resumed  in  a  hollow  voice,  slow  and  dis- 
tinct : 

"  When — saw — you — him, — young — m-m-a-n-nnn  ?  " 
Finding  the  tables  thus  turned  on  myself,  and  not  willing  to 
give  Mr.  Peac —  any  clue  to  poor  Vivian  (who  thus  appeared, 
to  my  great  satisfaction,  to  have  finally  dropped  an  acquaint- 
ance more  versatile  than  reputable),  I  contrived,  by  a  few 
evasive  sentences,  to  keep  Mr.  Peac — 's  curiosity  at  a  distance, 
tili  he  was  summoned  in  haste  to  change  his  attire  for  the 
domestic  drama.     And  so  we  parted, 

CHAPTER   VI. 

I  HATE  law  details  as  cordially  as  my  readers  can,  and  there- 
fore I  shall  content  myself  with  stating  that  Mr.  Pike's 
management,  at  the  end,  not  of  three  days,  but  of  two  weeks, 
was  so  admirable,  that  Uncle  Jack  was  drawn  out  of  prison, 
and  my  father  extracted  from  all  his  liabilities,  by  a  sura  two- 
thirds  less  than  was  first  startlingly  submitted  to  our  indignant 
horror  ;  and  that,  too,  in  a  manner  that  would  have  satisfied 
the  conscience  of  the  most  punctilious  formalist,  whose  contri- 
bution to  the  national  fund,  for  an  omitted  payment  to  the 
Income  Tax,  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  ever  had  the 
honor  to  acknowledge.  Still  the  sum  was  very  large  in  pro- 
portion to  my  poor  father's  income  ;  and  what  with  Jack's 
debts,  the  claims  of  the  Anti-Publisher  Society's  printer — 
including  the  very  expensive  plates  that  had  been  so  lavishly 
bespoken,  and  in  great  part  completed,  for  the  "  History  of 
Human  Error  " — and,  above  all,  the  liabilities  incurred  on  The 
Capitalist ;  what  with  the  plant,  as  Mr.  Peck  technically  phrased 
a  great  upas-tree  of  a  total,  branching  out  into  types,  cases, 
printing-presses,  engines,  etc.,  all  now  to  be  resold  at  a  third 
of  their  value  ;  what  with  advertisements  and  bills,  that  had 
covered  all  the  dead  walls  by  which  rubbish  might  be  shot, 
throughout  the  three  kingdoms  ;  what  with  the  dues  of  report- 
ers, and  salaries  of  writers,  who  had  been  engaged  for  a  year 
at  least  to  The  Capitalist,  and  whose  claims  survived  the 
wretch  they  had  killed  and  buried  ;  what,  in  short,  with  all 


«68  THE    CAXTONS. 

that  the  combined  ingenuity  of  Uncle  Jack  and  Printer  Peck 
could  supply  for  the  utter  ruin  of  the  Caxton  family — even 
after  all  deductions,  curtailments,  and  after  all  that  one  could 
extract  in  the  way  of  just  contribution  from  the  least  unsub- 
stantial of  those  shadows  called  the  shareholders — my  father's 
fortune  was  reduced  to  a  sum  of  between  seven  and  eight 
thousand  pounds,  which  being  placed  at  mortgage  at  4  per 
cent.,  yielded  just  ^^2  los.  a  year — enough  for  my  father  to 
live  upon,  but  not  enough  to  afford  also  his  son  Pisistratus  the 
advantages  of  education  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  The 
blow  fell  rather  upon  me  than  my  father,  and  my  young 
shoulders  bore  it  without  much  wincing. 

This  settled,  to  our  universal  satisfaction,  I  went  to  pay  my 
farewell  visit  to  Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert.  He  had  made  much 
of  me,  during  my  stay  in  London.  I  had  breakfasted  and 
dined  with  him  pretty  often  ;  I  had  presented  Squills  to  him, 
who  no  sooner  set  eyes  upon  that  splendid  conformation,  than 
he  described  his  character  with  the  nicest  accuracy,  as  the 
necessary  consequence  of  such  a  development  for  the  rosy 
pleasures  of  life.  We  had  never  once  retouched  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Fanny's  marriage,  and  both  of  us  tacitly  avoided  even 
mentioning  the  Trevanions.  But  in  this  last  visit,  though  he 
maintained  the  same  reserve  as  to  Fanny,  he  referred  without 
scruple  to  her  father. 

"  Well,  my  young  Athenian,"  said  he,  after  congratulating 
me  on  the  result  of  the  negotiations,  and  endeavoring  again  in 
vain  to  bear  at  least  some  share  in  my  father's  losses  ;  "  well, 
I  see  I  cannot  press  this  farther  ;  but  at  least  I  can  press  on 
you  any  little  interest  I  may  have,  in  obtaining  some  appoint- 
ment for  yourself  in  one  of  the  public  offices.  Trevanion 
could  ofcour.se  be  more  useful,  but  I  can  understand  that  he 
is  not  the  kind  of  man  you  would  like  to  apply  to." 

"  Shall  I  own  to  you,  my  dear  Sir  Sedley,  that  I  have  no 
taste  for  official  employment  ?  I  am  too  fond  of  my  liberty. 
Since  I  have  been  at  my  uncle's  old  Tower,  I  account  for  half 
my  character  by  the  Borderer's  blood  that  is  in  me.  I  doubt 
if  I  am  meant  for  the  life  of  cities  ;  and  I  have  odd  floating 
notions  in  my  head,  that  will  serve  to  amuse  me  when  I  get 
home,  and  may  settle  into  schemes.  And  now  to  change  the 
subject,  may  I  ask  what  kind  of  person  has  succeeded  me  as 
Mr.  Trevanion's  secretary  ? " 

"  Why,  he  has  got  a  broad-shouldered,  stooping  fellow,  in 
spectacles  and  cotton  stockings,  who  has  written  upon  *  Rent,' 
I  believe — an  imaginative  treatise  in  bis  case,  I  fear,  for  rent 


tttE    CAXTONS.  26^ 

fs  a  thing  he  could  never  have  received,  and  not  often  been 
trusted  to  pay.  However,  he  is  one  of  your  political  econo- 
mists, and  wants  Trevanion  to  sell  his  pictures,  as  '  unproduc- 
tive capital.'  Less  mild  than  Pope's  Narcissa,  *  to  make  a 
wash,'  he  would  certainly  '  stew  a  child."  Besides  this  official 
secretary,  Trevanion  trusts,  however,  a  good  deal  to  a  clever, 
good-looking  young  gentleman,  who  is  a  great  favorite  with 
him." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  His  name  ? — oh,  Gower  ;  a  natural  son,  I  believe,  of  one  of 
the  Gower  family." 

Here  two  of  Sir  Sedley's  fellow  fine  gentlemen  lounged  in, 
and  my  visit  ended. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

**  I  SWEAR,"  cried  my  uncle,  "  that  it  shall  be  so."  And 
with  a  big  frown,  and  a  truculent  air,  he  seized  the  fatal  instru- 
ment. 

"  Indeed,  brother,  it  must  not,"  said  my  father,  laying  one 
pale,  scholar-like  hand  mildly  on  Captain  Roland's  brown,  belli- 
cose, and  bony  fist  ;  and  with  the  other,  outstretched,  protect- 
ing the  menaced,  palpitating  victim. 

Not  a  word  had  my  uncle  heard  of  our  losses,  until  they  had 
been  adjusted,  and  the  sum  paid  ;  for  we  all  knew  that  the 
old  Tower  would  have  been  gone — sold  to  some  neighboring 
squire  or  jobbing  attorney — at  the  first  impetuous  impulse  of 
Uncle  Roland's  affectionate  generosity.  Austin  endangered  ! 
Austin  ruined  ! — he  would  never  have  rested  till  he  came,  cash 
in  hand,  to  his  deliverance.  Therefore,  I  say,  not  till  all  was 
settled  did  I  write  to  the  Captain,  and  tell  him  gayly  what  had 
chanced.  And,  however  light  I  made  of  our  misfortunes,  the 
letter  brought  the  Captain  to  the  red  brick  house  the  same 
evening  on  which  I  myself  reached  it,  and  about  an  hour  later. 
My  uncle  had  not  sold  the  Tower,  but  he  came  prepared  to 
carry  us  off  to  it  vi  etarmis.  We  must  live  with  him,  and  on 
him  ;  let  or  sell  the  brick  house,  and  put  out  the  remnant  of 
my  father's  income  to  nurse  and  accumulate.  And  it  was  on 
finding  my  father's  resistance  stubborn,  and  that  hitherto  he 
had  made  no  way,  that  my  uncle,  stepping  back  into  the  hall, 
in  which  he  had  left  his  carpet-bag,  etc.,  returned  with  an  old 
oak  case,  and,  touching  a  spring  roller,  out  flew  the  Caxton 
pedigree. 

Out  it  flew — covering  all  the  table,  and  undulating,  Nile-like, 


i-JO  Tllh    CAXiOiNh. 

till  it  had  spread  over  books,  papers,  my  mother's  work-box, 
and  the  tea-service  (for  the  table  was  large  and  compendious, 
emblematic  of  its  owner's  mind),  and  then,  flowing  on  the  car- 
pet, dragged  its  slow  length  along,  till  it  was  stopped  by  the 
fender. 

"  Now,"  said  my  uncle  solemnly,  "  there  never  have  been 
but  two  causes  of  difference  between  you  and  me,  Austin. 
One  is  over  ;  why  should  the  other  last  ?  Aha  !  I  know  why 
you  hang  back  ;  you  think  we  may  quarrel  about  it  !  " 

"  About  what,  Roland  ?  " 

"  About  it,  I  say — and  I'll  be  d — d  if  we  do  !  "  cried  my 
uncle,  reddening.  "And  I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal 
upon  the  matter,  and  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  right.  So  I 
brought  the  old  parchment  with  me,  and  you  shall  see  me  fill 
up  the  blank,  just  as  you  would  have  it.  Now,  then,  you  will 
come  and  live  with  me,  and  we  can  never  quarrel  any  more." 

Thus  saying.  Uncle  Roland  looked  round  for  pen  and  ink  ; 
and,  having  found  them — not  without  difficulty,  for  they  had 
been  submerged  under  the  overflow  of  the  pedigree — he  was 
about  to  fill  up  the  lacuna^  or  hiatus,  which  had  given  rise  to 
such  memorable  controversy,  with  the  name  of  "  William  Cax- 
ton,  printer  in  the  Sanctuary,"  when  my  father,  slowly  recover- 
ing his  breath,  and  aware  of  his  brother's  purpose,  intervened. 
It  would  have  done  your  heart  good  to  hear  them — so  com- 
pletely, in  the  inconsistency  of  human  nature,  had  they  changed 
sides  upon  the  question — my  father  now  all  for  Sir  William  de 
Caxton,  the  hero  of  Bosworth  ;  my  uncle  all  for  the  immor- 
tal printer.  And  in  this  discussion  they  grew  animated  :  their 
eyes  sparkled,  their  voices  rose — Roland's  voice  deep  and 
thunderous,  Austin's  sharp  and  piercing.  Mr.  Squills  stopped 
his  ears.  Thus  it  arrived  at  that  point,  when  my  uncle 
doggedly  came  to  the  end  of  all  argumentation  :  "  I  swear 
that  it  shall  be  so  ";  and  my  father,  trying  the  last  resource 
of  pathos,  looked  pleadingly  into  Roland's  eyes,  and  said,  with 
a  tone  soft  as  mercy  :  *'  Indeed,  brother,  it  must  not."  Mean- 
while the  dry  parchment  crisped,  creaked,  and  trembled  in 
every  pore  of  its  yellow  skin. 

"  But,"  said  I,  coming  in  opportunely,  like  the  Horatian  deity, 
"  I  don't  see  that  either  of  you  gentlemen  has  a  right  so  to 
dispose  of  my  ancestry.  It  is  quite  clear  that  a  man  has  no 
possession  in  posterity.  Posterity  may  possess  him  ;  but 
(Jeuce  a  bit  will  he  ever  be  the  better  for  his  great-great-grand- 
children !  " 

Squills. — Hear,  hear ! 


THE    CAXTONS,  271 

PisisTRATUs  (warming). — But  a  man's  ancestry  is  a  positive 
property  to  him.  How  much,  not  only  of  acres,  but  of  his  con- 
stitution, his  temper,  his  conduct,  character,  and  nature,  he 
may  inherit  from  some  progenitor  ten  times  removed  !  Nay, 
without  that  progenitor  would  he  ever  have  been  born — would 
a  Squills  ever  have  introduced  him  into  the  world,  or  a  nurse 
ever  have  carried  him  upo  kolpo  ? 

Squills. — Hear,  hear  ! 

PisiSTRATUS  (with  dignified  emotion). — No  man,  therefore, 
has  a  right  to  rob  another  of  a  forefather,  with  a  stroke  of  his 
pen,  from  any  motives,  howsoever  amiable.  In  the  present 
instance,  you  will  say,  perhaps,  that  the  ancestor  in  question  is 
apocryphal — it  may  be  Ihe  printer,  it  may  be  the  knight. 
Granted  ;  but  here,  where  history  is  in  fault,  shall  a  mere 
sentiment  decide  ?  While  both  are  doubtful,  my  imagination 
appropriates  both.  At  one  time  I  can  reverence  industry  and 
learning  in  the  printer ;  at  another,  valor  and  devotion  in  the 
knight.  This  kindly  doubt  gives  me  two  great  forefathers  ; 
and,  through  them,  two  trains  of  idea  that  influence  my  con- 
duct under  different  circumstances.  I  will  not  permit  you. 
Captain  Roland,  to  rob  me  of  either  forefather,  either  train  of 
idea.  Leave,  then,  this  sacred  void  unfilled,  unprofaned  ;  and 
accept  this  compromise  of  chivalrous  courtesy — while  my 
father  lives  with  the  Captain,  we  will  believe  in  the  printer ; 
when  away  from  the  Captain,  we  will  stand  firm  to  the  knight, 

"  Good  !  "  cried  Uncle  Roland,  as  I  paused,  a  little  out  of 
breath. 

"  And,"  said  my  mother  softly,  "  I  do  think,  Austin,  there  is 
a  way  of  settling  the  matter  which  will  please  all  parties.  It  is 
quite  sad  to  think  that  poor  Roland,  and  dear  little  Blanche, 
should  be  all  alone  in  the  Tower  ;  and  I  am  sure  that  we 
should  be  much  happier  all  together." 

"  There  ! "  cried  Roland  triumphantly.  "  If  you  are  not 
the  most  obstinate,  hard  hearted,  unfeeling  brute  in  the  world — 
which  I  don't  take  you  to  be.  Brother  Austin,  after  that  really 
beautiful  speech  of  your  wife's,  there  is  not  a  word  to  be  said 
further." 

"  But  we  have  not  yet  heard  Kitty  to  the  end,  Roland." 

"I  beg  your  pardon  a  thousand  times,  ma'am — sister,"  said 
the  Captain,  bowing. 

"  Well,  I  was  going  to  add,"  said  my  mother,  "  that  we  will 
go  and  live  with  you,  Roland,  and  club  our  little  fortunes 
together.  Blanche  and  I  will  take  care  of  the  house,  and  we 
shall  be  just  twice  as  rich  together  as  we  are  separately." 


272  THE   CAXTONS. 

"  Pretty  sort  of  hospitality  that  !  "  grunted  the  Captain.  ''  I 
did  not  expect  you  to  throw  me  over  in  that  way.  No,  no  • 
you  must  lay  by  for  the  boy  there — what's  to  become  of  him?  " 

"  But  we  shall  a//  lay  by  for  him,"  said  my  mother  simply  ; 
"  you  as  well  as  Austin.  We  shall  have  more  to  save,  if  we 
have  more  to  spend." 

"Ah,  save  ! — that  is  easily  said  :  there  would  be  a  pleasure 
in  saving,  then,"  said  the  Captain  mournfully. 

"And  what's  to  become  of  me  ?"  cried  Squills,  very  petu- 
lantly. "  Am  I  to  be  left  here  in  my  old  age — not  a  rational 
soul  to  speak  to,  and  no  other  place  in  the  village  where 
there's  a  drop  of  decent  punch  to  be  had  !  *  A  plague  on  both 
your  houses  ! '  as  the  chap  said  at  the  theatre  the  other  night." 

"  There's  room  for  a  doctor  in  our  neighborhood,  Mr. 
Squills,"  said  the  Captain.  "  The  gentleman  in  your  profes- 
sion who  does  /or  us  wants,  I  know,  to  sell  the  business." 

"Humph,"  said  Squills — "a  horribly  healthy  neighborhood, 
I  suspect !  " 

"Why,  It  has  that  misfortune,  Mr.  Squills  ;  but  with  your 
help,"  said  my  uncle  slyly,  "  a  great  alteration  for  the  better 
may  be  effected  in  that  respect." 

Mr.  Squills  was  about  to  reply,  when  ring — a-ting — ring — 
ting  !  there  came  such  a  brisk,  impatient,  make-one's-self-at- 
home  kind  of  tintinnabular  alarum  at  the  great  gate,  that  we 
all  started  up  and  looked  at  each  other  in  surprise.  Who 
could  it  possibly  be  ?  We  were  not  kept  long  in  suspense  ; 
for  in  another  moment,  Uncle  Jack's  voice,  which  was  always 
very  clear  and  distinct,  pealed  through  the  hall  ;  and  we  were 
still  staring  at  each  other  when  Mr.  Tibbets,  with  a  brand-new 
muffler  round  his  neck,  and  a  peculiarly  comfortable  great- 
coat— best  double  Saxony,  equally  new — dashed  into  the  room, 
bringing  with  him  a  very  considerable  quantity  of  cold  air, 
which  he  hastened  to  thaw,  first  in  my  father's  arms,  next  in 
my  mother's.  He  then  made  a  rush  at  the  Captain,  who  en- 
sconced himself  behind  the  dumb  waiter  with  a  "  Hem  !  Mr. — 
sir — Jack — sir — hem,  hem  !  "  .  Failing  there,  Mr.  Tibbets 
rubbed  off  the  remaining  frost  upon  his  double  Saxony  against 
your  humble  servant ;  patted  Squills  affectionately  on  the 
back,  and  then  proceeded  to  occupy  his  favorite  position  be- 
fore the  fire." 

'■  "Took  you  by  surprise,  eh? "  said  Uncle  Jack,  unpeeling 
himself  by  the  hearth-rug.  "  But  no — not  by  surprise  ;  you 
must  have  known  Jack's  heart  :  you  at  least,  Austin  Caxton, 
who  know  everything — you  must  have  seen  that  it  overflowed 


THE    CAXTONS.  ^73 

with  the  tenderest  and  most  brotherly  emotions  ;  that  once 
delivered  from  that  cursed  Fleet  (you  have  no  idea  what  a 
place  it  is,  sir),  I  could  not  rest,  night  or  day,  till  I  had  flown 
here — here,  to  the  dear  family  nest — poor  wounded  dove  that 
I  am  !  "  added  Uncle  Jack  pathetically,  and  taking  out  his 
pocket-handkerchief  from  the  double  Saxony,  which  he  had 
now  flung  over  my  father's  arm-chair. 

Not  a  word  replied  to  this  eloquent  address,  with  its  touch- 
ing peroration.  My  mother  hung  down  her  pretty  head,  and 
looked  ashamed.  My  uncle  retreated  quite  into  the  corner^ 
and  drew  the  dumb  waiter  after  him,  so  as  to  establish  a  com- 
plete fortification.  Mr.  Squills  seized  the  pen  that  Roland  had 
thrown  down,  and  began  mending  it  furiously — that  is,  cutting 
it  into  slivers — thereby  denoting,  symbolically,  how  he  would 
like  to  do  with  Uncle  Jack,  could  he  once  get  him  safe  and 
snug  under  his  manipular  operations.  1  bent  over  the  pedi- 
gree, and  my  father  rubbed  his  spectacles. 

The  silence  would  have  been  appalling  to  another  man  : 
nothing  appalled  Uncle  Jack. 

Uncle  Jack  turned  to  the  fire,  and  warmed  first  one  foot, 
then  the  other.  This  comfortable  ceremony  performed,  he 
again  faced  the  company,  and  resumed,  musingly,  and  as  if 
answering  some  imaginary  observations  : 

"  Yes,  yes — you  are  right  there  ;  and  a  deuced  unlucky 
speculation  it  proved  too.  But  I  was  overruled  by  that  fellow 
Peck.  Says  1  to  him,  says  I  :  '  Capitalist !  pshaw — no  popu- 
lar interest  there — it  don't  address  the  great  public  !  Very 
confined  class  the  capitalists  ;  better  throw  ourselves  boldly 
on  the  people.  Yes,'  said  I,  '  call  it  the  fl;;///-Capitalist.'  By 
Jove  !  sir,  we  should  have  carried  all  before  us  !  but  I  was 
overruled.  The  Anti-Capitalist! — what  an  idea!  Address 
the  whole  reading  world  there,  sir  :  everybody  hates  the  capi- 
talist— everybody  would  have  his  neighbor's  money.  The 
Anti-Capitalist ! — sir,  we  should  have  gone  off,  in  the  manu- 
facturing towns,  like  wildfire.     But  what  could  I  do  ? — " 

"  John  Tibbets,"  said  my  father  solemnly,  "  Capitalist  or 
Anti-Capitalist,  thou  hadst  a  right  to  follow  thine  own  bent  in 
either — but  always  provided  it  had  been  with  thine  own  money. 
Thou  seest  not  the  thing,  John  Tibbets,  in  the  right  point  of 
view  ;  and  a  little  repentance  in  the  face  of  those  thou  hast 
wronged,  would  not  have  misbecome  thy  father's  son,  and  thy 
sister's  brother  ! — " 

Never  had  so  severe  a  rebuke  issued  from  the  mild  lips  of 
Austin  Caxton  ;  and  I  raised  my  eyes  with  a  compassionate 


iJ4  "^HE   CAXTONS. 

thriil,  expecting  to  see  John  Tibbets  gradually  sink  and  dis- 
appear through  the  carpet. 

"  Repentance  !  "  cried  Uncle  Jack,  bounding  up,  as  if  he 
had  been  shot.  "  And  do  you  think  I  have  a  heart  of  stone, 
of  pummystone  !  Do  you  think  I  don't  repent  ?  I  have  done 
nothing  but  repent — I  shall  repent  to  my  dying  day." 

"  Then  there  is  no  more  to  be  said,  Jack,"  cried  my  father, 
softening,  and  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Yes  !  "  cried  Mr.  Tibbets,  seizing  the  hand,  and  pressing 
it  to  the  heart  he  had  thus  defended  from  the  suspicion  of 
being  pummy — "  yes — that  I  should  have  trusted  that  dunder- 
headed,  rascally,  curmudgeon  Peck  :  that  I  should  have  let 
him  call  it  TAe  Capitalist,  despite  all  my  convictions,  when  the 
Anti — " 

"  Pshaw  !  "  interrupted  my  father,  drawing  away  his  hand. 

"John,"  said  my  mother  gravely,  and  with  tears  in  her  voice, 
"  you  forget  who  delivered  you  from  prison — you  forget  whom 
you  have  nearly  consigned  to  prison  yourself — you  forg — " 

**  Hush,  hush,"  said  my  father,  "  this  will  never  do  ;  and  it 
is  you  who  forget,  my  dear,  the  obligations  I  owe  to  Jack. 
He  has  reduced  my  fortune  one-half,  it  is  true  ;  but  I  verily 
think  he  has  made  the  three  hearts,  in  which  lie  my  real  treas- 
ures, twice  as  large  as  they  were  before.  Pisistratus,  my  boy, 
ring  the  bell." 

"  My  dear  Kitty,"  cried  Jack  whimperingly,  and  stealing  up 
to  my  mother,  "  don't  be  so  hard  on  me  ;  I  thought  to  make 
all  your  fortunes — I  did,  indeed." 

Here  the  servant  entered. 

"  See  that  Mr.  Tibbets's  things  are  taken  up  to  his  room,  and 
that  there  is  a  good  fire,"  said  my  father. 

"  And,"  continued  Jack  loftily,  "  I  7i<ill  make  all  your  for- 
tunes yet.     I  have  it  ho-e  !  "  and  he  struck  his  head. 

**  Stay  a  moment !  "  said  my  father  to  the  servant,  who  had 
got  back  to  the  door.  "  Stay  a  moment,"  said  my  father, 
looking  extremely  frightened  ;  "  perhaps  Mr.  Tibbets  may 
prefer  the  inn  !  " 

"Austin,"  said  Uncle  Jack,  with  emotion,  "  if  I  were  a  dog, 
with  no  home  but  a  dog-kennel,  and  you  came  to  me  for  shel- 
ter, I  would  turn  out — to  give  you  the  best  of  the  straw  !  " 

My  father  was  thoroughly  melted  this  time. 

"  Primmins  will  be  sure  to  see  everything  is  made  comfort- 
able for  Mr.  Tibbets,"  said  he,  waving  his  hand  to  the  servant. 
"  Something  nice  for  supper,  Kitty,  my  dear — and  the  largest 
punch-bowl.     You  like  punch,  Jack  ? " 


THE  CAXTONS.  3(75 

"  Punch,  Austin  !  "  said  Uncle  Jack,  putting  his  handker- 
chief to  his  eyes. 

The  Captain  pushed  aside  the  dumb  waiter,  strode  across 
the  room,  and  shook  hands  with  Uncle  Jack  ;  my  mother 
buried  her  face  in  her  apron,  and  fairly  ran  off ;  and  Squills 
said  in  my  ear  :  "  It  all  comes  of  the  biliary  se(5retions.  No- 
body could  account  for  this,  who  did  not  know  the  peculiarly 
fine  organization  of  your  father's — liver  !  " 


PART   TWELFTH. 


CHAPTER   I. 

The  Hegira  is  completed  ;  we  have  all  taken  roost  in  the 
old  Tower.  My  father's  books  have  arrived  by  the  wagon, 
and  have  settled  themselves  quietly  in  their  new  abode — filling 
up  the  apartment  dedicated  to  their  owner,  including  the  bed- 
chamber and  two  lobbies.  The  duck  also  has  arrived,  under 
wing  of  Mrs.  Primmins,  and  has  reconciled  herself  to  the  old 
stew-pond  ;  by  the  side  of  which  my  father  has  found  a  walk 
that  compensates  for  the  peach  wall — especially  as  he  has 
made  acquaintance  with  sundry  respectable  carps,  who  permit 
him  to  feed  them  after  he  has  fed  the  duck — a  privilege  of  which 
(since,  if  any  one  else  approaches,  the  carps  are  off  in  an 
instant)  my  father  is  naturally  vain.  All  privileges  are  valu- 
able in  proportion  to  the  exclusiveness  of  their  enjoyment. 

Now,  from  the  moment  the  first  carp  had  eaten  the  bread 
my  father  threw  to  it,  Mr.  Caxton  had  mentally  resolved,  that 
a  race  so  confiding  should  never  be  sacrificed  to  Ceres  and 
Primmins.  But  all  the  fishes  on  my  uncle's  property  were  under 
the  special  cai^e  of  that  Proteus,  Bolt,  and  Bolt  was  not  a  man 
likely  to  suffer  the  carps  to  earn  their  bread  without  contribut- 
ing their  full  share  to  the  wants  of  the  community.  But,  like 
master,  like  man  !  Bolt  was  an  aristocrat  fit  to  be  hung  d.  la 
lanterne.  He  out-Rolanded  Roland  in  the  respect  he  enter- 
tained for  sounding  names  and  old  families  ;  and  by  that  bait 
my  father  caught  him  with  such  skill,  that  you  might  see  that, 
if  Austin  Caxton  had  been  an  angler  of  fishes,  he  could  have 
filled  his  basket  full  any  day,  shine  or  rain. 

"  You  observe,  Bolt,"  said  my  father,  beginning  artfully, 
"  that  those  fishes,  dull  as  you  may  think  them,  are  creatures 


376  THE    CAXtONS. 

capable  of  a  syllogism  ;  and  if  they  saw  that,  in  proportion  td 
their  civility  to  me,  they  were  depopulated  by  you,  they  would 
put  two  and  two  together,  and  renounce  my  acquaintance." 

"  Is  that  what  you  call  being  silly  Jems,  sir  ?"  said  Bolt  : 
"  faith,  there  is  many  a  good  Christian  not  half  so  wise  !  " 

**  Man,"  answered  my  father  thoughtfully,  '•  is  an  animal 
less  syllogistical,  or  more  silly-Jemical,  than  many  creatures 
popularly  esteemed  his  inferiors.  Yes,  let  but  one  of  those 
Cyprinidae,  with  his  fine  sense  of  logic,  see  that,  if  his  fellow- 
fishes  eat  bread,  they  are  suddenly  jerked  out  of  their  element, 
and  vanish  forever ;  and  though  you  broke  a  quartern  loaf 
into  crumbs,  he  would  snap  his  tail  at  you  with  enlightened 
contempt.  If,"  said  my  father,  soliloquizing,  "  I  had  been  as 
syllogistic  as  those  scaly  logicians,  I  should  never  have  swal- 
lowed that  hook,  which — hum  !  there — least  said  soonest 
mended.     But,  Mr.  Bolt,  to  return  to  the  Cyprinidae." 

"  What's  the  hard  name  you  call  them  'ere  carp,  your 
honor?"  asked  Bolt. 

"  Cyprinidae,  a  family  of  the  section  Malacoptergii  Ab- 
dominales,"  replied  Mr.  Caxton  ;  ''their  teeth  are  generally 
confined  to  the  Pharyngeans,  and  their  branchiostegous  rays 
are  but  few — marks  of  distinction  from  fishes  vulgar  and 
voracious." 

"  Sir,"  said  Bolt,  glancing  to  the  stewpond,  "  if  I  had  known 
they  had  been  a  family  of  such  importance,  I  am  sure  I  should 
have  treated  them  with  more  respect." 

"  They  are  a  very  old  family,  Bolt,  and  have  been  settled  in 
England  since  the  fourteenth  century.  A  younger  branch  of 
the  family  has  established  itself  in  a  pond  in  the  gardens  of 
Peterhoff  (the  celebrated  palace  of  Peter  the  Great,  Bolt — an 
emperor  highly  respected  by  my  brother,  for  he  killed  a  great 
many  people  very  gloriously  in  battle,  beside  those  whom  he 
sabred  for  his  own  private  amusement).  And  there  is  an 
officer  or  servant  of  the  Imperial  Household,  whose  task  it  is  to 
summon  those  Russian  Cyprinidae  to  dinner,  by  ringing  a  bell, 
shortly  after  which,  you  may  see  the  emperor  and  empress, 
with  all  their  waiting  ladies  and  gentlemen,  coming  down  in 
their  carriages  to  see  the  Cyprinidae  eat  in  state.  So  you  per- 
ceive. Bolt,  that  it  would  be  a  republican,  Jacobinical  proceed- 
ing to  stew  members  of  a  family  so  intimately  associated  with 
royalty." 

"  Dear  me,  sir  ! "  said  Bolt,  "  I  am  very  glad  you  told  me. 
I  ought  to  have  known  they  were  genteel  fish,  they  are  so 
mighty  shy — as  all  your  real  quality  are." 


THE     CAXTONS.  277 

My  father  smiled  and  rubbed  his  hands  gently  ;  he  had 
carried  his  point,  and  henceforth  the  Cyprinidas  of  the  section 
Malacoptergii  Abdominales  were  as  sacred  in  Bolt's  eyes  as 
cats  and  ichneumons  were  in  those  of  a  priest  in  Thebes. 

My  poor  father  !  with  what  true  and  unostentatious  philos- 
ophy thou  didst  accommodate  thyself  to  the  greatest  change 
thy  quiet,  harmless  life  had  known,  since  it  had  passed  out  of 
the  brief  burning  cycle  of  the  passions.  Lost  was  the  home, 
endeared  to  thee  by  so  many  noiseless  victories  of  the  mind, 
so  many  mute  histories  of  the  heart — for  only  the  scholar 
knoweth  how  deep  a  charm  lies  in  monotony,  in  the  old  as- 
sociations, the  old  ways,  and  habitual  clockwork  of  peaceful 
vime.  Yet,  the  home  may  be  replaced — thy  heart  built  its 
home  round  itself  everywhere — and  the  old  Tower  might 
supply  the  loss  of  the  brick  house,  and  the  walk  by  the  stew- 
pond  become  as  dear  as  the  haunts  by  the  sunny  peach  wall. 
But  what  shall  replace  to  thee  the  bright  dream  of  thine  inno- 
cent ambition — that  angel-wing  which  had  glittered  across  thy 
manhood,  in  the  hour  between  its  noon  and  its  setting?  What 
replace  to  thee  the  Magnum  Opus — the  Great  Book  ! — fair 
and  broadspreading  tree — lone  amidst  the  sameness  of  the 
landscape — now  plucked  up  by  the  roots  !  The  oxygen  was 
subtracted  from  the  air  of  thy  life.  For  be  it  known  to  you, 
O  my  compassionate  readers,  that  with  the  death  of  the  Anti- 
Publisher  Society  the  blood-streams  of  the  Great  Book  stood 
still  ;  its  pulse  was  arrested  ;  its  full  heart  beat  no  more. 
Three  thousand  copies  of  the  first  seven  sheets  in  quarto,  with 
sundry  unfinished  plates,  anatomical,  architectural,  and  graphic, 
depicting  various  developments  of  the  human  skull  (that 
temple  of  Human  Error),  from  the  Hottentot  to  the  Greek  ; 
sketches  of  ancient  buildings,  Cyclopean  and  Pelasgic  ;  Pyra- 
mids, and  Pur-tors,  all  signs  of  races  whose  handwriting  was 
on  their  walls ;  landscapes  to  display  the  influence  of  Nature 
upon  the  customs,  creeds,  and  philosophy  of  men — here  show- 
ing how  the  broad  Chaldean  wastes  led  to  the  contemplation  of 
the  stars  ;  and  illustrations  of  the  Zodiac,  in  elucidation  of  the 
mysteries  of  symbol  worship  ;  fantastic  vagaries  of  earth  fresh 
from  the  Deluge,  tending  to  impress  on  early  superstition  the 
awful  sense  of  the  rude  powers  of  Nature ;  views  of  the  rocky 
defiles  of  Laconia  ;  Sparta,  neighbored  by  the  "  silent  Amy- 
clas,"  explaining  as  it  were,  geographically,  the  iron  customs 
of  the  warrior  colony  (arch  Tories,  amidst  the  shift  and  roar 
of  Hellenic  democracies),  contrasted  by  the  seas,  and  coasts, 
and  creeks  of  Athens  and  Ionia,  tempting  to  adventure,  com- 


278  THE    CAXTONS. 

merce,  and  change.  Yea,  my  father,  in  his  suggestions  to  the 
artist  of  tl>ose  few  imperfect  plates,  had  thrown  as  much  light 
on  the  infancy  of  earth  and  its  tribes  as  by  the  "shining 
words  "  that  flowed  from  his  calm,  starry  knowledge  !  Plates 
and  copies,  all  rested  now  in  peace  and  dust — *'*  housed  with 
darkness  and  with  death,"  en  the  sepulchral  shelves  of  the 
lobby  to  which  they  were  consigned — rays  intercepted — worlds 
incompleted.  The  Prometheus  was  bound,  and  the  fire  he 
had  stolen  from  heaven  lay  imbedded  in  the  flints  of  his  rock. 
For  so  costly  was  the  mould  in  which  Uncle  Jack  and  thte 
Anti-Publisher  Society  had  contrived  to  cast  this  Exposition 
of  Human  Error,  that  every  bookseller  shyed  at  its  very  sight, 
as  an  owl  blinks  at  daylight,  or  human  error  at  truth.  In  vain 
Squills  and  I,  before  we  left  London,  had  carried  a  gigantic 
specimen  of  the  Magnum  Opus  into  the  back  parlors  of  firms 
the  most  opulent  and  adventurous.  Publisher  after  publisher 
started,  as  if  we  had  held  a  blunderbuss  to  his  ear.  AH  Pater- 
noster Row  uttered  a  "  Lord  deliver  us  !  "  Human  Error  found 
no  man  so  egregiously  its  victim  as  to  complete  those  two  quar- 
tos, with  the  prospect  of  two  others,  at  his  own  expense.  Now,  I 
had  earnestly  hoped  that  my  father,  for  the  sake  of  mankind, 
would  be  persuaded  to  risk  some  portion — and  that,  I  own, 
not  a  small  one — of  his  remaining  capital  on  the  conclusion 
of  an  undertaking  so  elaborately  begun.  But  there  my 
father  was  obdurate.  No  big  words  about  mankind,  and 
the  advantage  to  unborn  generations,  could  stir  him  an 
inch.  "Stuff !  "  said  Mr.  Caxton  peevishly.  "  A  man's  duties 
to  mankind  and  posterity  begin  with  his  own  son ;  and 
having  wasted  half  your  patrimony,  I  will  not  take  another 
huge  slice  out  of  the  poor  remainder  to  gratify  my  vanity,  for 
that  is  the  plain  truth  of  it.  Man  must  atone  for  sin  by 
expiation.  By  the  book  I  have  sinned,  and  the  book  must 
expiate  it.  Pile  the  sheets  up  in  the  lobby,  so  that  at  least  one 
man  may  be  wiser  and  humbler  by  the  sight  of  Human  Error, 
every  time  he  walks  by  so  stupendous  a  monument  of  it." 

Verily,  I  know  not  how  my  father  could  bear  to  look  at 
those  dumb  fragments  of  himself — strata  of  the  Caxtonian 
conformation  lying  layer  upon  layer,  as  if  packed  up  and  dis- 
posed for  the  inquisitive  genius  of  some  moral  Murchison  or 
Mantell.  But  for  my  part,  I  never  glanced  at  their  repose  in 
the  dark  lobby,  without  thinking :  **  Courage,  Pisistratus ! 
courage !  there's  something  worth  living  for  ;  work  hard,  grow 
\ich,  and  the  Great  Book  shall  come  out  at  last." 

Meanwhile,  I  wandered  over  the  country,  and  made  acquaint- 


THE    CAXTONS.  279 

ance  with  the  farmers,  and  with  Trevanion's  steward — an  able 
man,  and  a  great  agriculturist — and  I  learned  from  them  a 
better  notion  of  the  nature  of  my  uncle's  domains.  Those 
domains  covered  an  immense  acreage,  which,  save  a  small 
farm,  was  of  no  value  at  present.  But  land  of  the  same  sort 
had  been  lately  redeemed  by  a  simple  kind  of  draining,  now 
well  known  in  Cumberland  ;  and,  with  capital,  Roland's  barren 
moors  might  become  a  noble  property.  But  capital,  where 
was  that  to  come  from  ?  Nature  gives  us  all  except  the  means 
to  turn  her  into  marketable  account.  As  old  Plautus  saith  so 
wittily  :  "  Day,  night,  water,  sun,  and  moon,  are  to  be  had 
gratis,  for  everything  else — down  with  your  dust !  " 

CHAPTER  II. 

Nothing  has  been  heard  of  Uncle  Jack.  Before  we  left 
the  brick  house,  the  captain  gave  him  an  invitation  to  the 
Tower,  more,  I  suspect,  out  of  compliment  to  my  mother  than 
from  the  unbidden  impulse  of  his  own  inclinations.  But  Mr. 
Tibbets  politely  declined  it.  During  his  stay  at  the  brick 
house,  he  had  received  and  written  a  vast  number  of  letters  ; 
some  of  those  he  received,  indeed,  were  left  at  the  village  post- 
office,  under  the  alphabetical  addresses  of  A  B  or  X  Y.  For 
no  misfortune  ever  paralyzed  the  energies  of  Uncle  Jack.  In 
the  winter  of  adversity  he  vanished,  it  is  true,  but  even  in  van- 
ishing he  vegetated  still.  He  resembled  those  algae,  termed 
the  Protococcus  nivales,  which  give  a  rose  color  to  the  Polar 
snows  that  conceal  them,  and  flourish  unsuspected  amidst  the 
general  dissolution  of  Nature.  Uncle  Jack,  then,  was  as  lively 
and  sanguine  as  ever,  though  he  began  to  let  fall  vague  hints 
of  intentions  to  abandon  the  general  cause  of  his  fellow-creat- 
ures, and  to  set  up  business  henceforth  purely  on  his  own 
account ;  wherewith  my  father — to  the  great  shock  of  my 
belief  in  his  philanthropy — expressed  himself  much  pleased. 
And  I  strongly  suspect  that,  when  Uncle  Jack  wrapped  him- 
self up  in  his  new  double  Saxony,  and  went  off  at  last,  he  car- 
ried with  him  something  more  than  my  father's  good  wishes 
in  aid  of  his  conversion  to  egotistical  philosophy. 

"  That  man  will  do  yet,"  said  my  father,  as  the  last  glimpse 
was  caught  of  Uncle  Jack  standing  up  on  the  stage-coach  box 
beside  the  driver — partly  to  wave  his  hand  to  us  as  we  stood 
at  the  gate,  and  partly  to  array  himself  more  commodiously  in 
a  box-coat,  with  six  capes,  which  the  coachman  had  lent  him. 

"Do  you  think  so,  sir?"  said  I  doubtfully.     "May  I  ask  why?" 


a8o  THE    CAXTONS. 

Mr.  Caxton. — On  the  cat  principle — that  he  tumbles  so 
lightly.  You  may  throw  him  down  from  St.  Paul's,  and  the 
next  time  you  see  him  he  will  be  scrambling  atop  of  the  Mon- 
ument. 

PisiSTRATUS. — liut  a  cat  the  most  viparious  is  limited  to 
nine  lives  ;  and  Uncle  Jack  must  be  now  far  gone  in  his  eighth. 

Mr.  Caxton  (not  heeding  that  answer,  for  he  has  got  his 
hand  in  his  waistcoat). — The  earth,  according  to  Apuleius,  in 
his  "  Treatise  on  the  Philosophy  of  Plato,"  was  produced  from 
right-angled  triangles  ;  but  fire  and  air  from  the  scalene  tri- 
angle, the  angles  of  which,  I  need  not  say,  are  very  different 
from  those  of  a  right-angled  triangle.  Now  I  think  there  are 
people  in  the  world  of  whom  one  can  only  judge  rightly  ac- 
cording to  those  mathematical  principles  applied  to  their 
original  construction  :  for,  if  air  or  fire  predominates  in  our 
natures,  we  are  scalene  triangles  ;  if  earth,  right-angled.  Now, 
as  air  is  so  notably  manifested  in  Jack's  conformation,  he  is, 
nolens  volens,  produced  in  conformity  with  his  preponderating 
element.  He  is  a  scalene  triangle,  and  must  be  judged,  accord- 
ingly, upon  irregular,  lop-sided  principles  ;  whereas  you  and  I, 
commonplace  mortals,  are  produced,  like  the  earth,  which  is  our 
preponderating  element,  with  our  triangles  all  right-angled, 
comfortable  and  complete — for  which  blessing  let  us  thank 
Providence,  and  be  charitable  to  those  who  are  necessarily 
windy  and  gaseous,  from  that  unlucky  scalene  triangle  upon 
which  they  have  had  the  misfortune  to  be  constructed,  and 
which,  you  perceive,  is  quite  at  variance  with  the  mathematical 
constitution  of  the  earth  ! 

PisiSTRATUS. — Sir,  I  am  very  happy  to  hear  so  simple,  easy, 
and  intelligible  an  explanation  of  Uncle  Jack's  peculiarities  ; 
and  I  only  hope  that,  for  the  future,  the  sides  of  his  scalene 
triangle  may  never  be  produced  to  our  rectangular  conforma- 
tions. 

Mr.  Caxton  (descending  from  his  stilts,  with  an  air  as 
mildly  reproachful  as  if  I  had  been  cavilling  at  the  virtues  of 
Socrates). — You  don't  do  your  uncle  justice,  Pisistratus  ;  he 
is  a  very  clever  man  ;  and  I  am  sure  that,  in  spite  of  his  scalene 
misfortune,  he  would  be  an  honest  one — that  is  (added  Mr. 
Caxton,  correcting  himself),  not  romantically  or  heroically 
honest,  but  honest  as  men  go — if  he  could  but  keep  his  head 
long  enough  above  water  ;  but,  you  see,  when  the  best  man  in 
the  world  is  engaged  in  the  process  of  sinking,  he  catches  hold 
of  whatever  comes  in  his  way,  and  drowns  the  very  friend  who 
is  swimming  to  save  him. 


THE    CAXTONS.  281 

PisiSTRATUS. — Perfectly  true,  sir  ;  but  Uncle  Jack  makes 
it  his  business  to  be  always  sinking  ! 

Mr.  Caxton  (with  nai'veU). — And  how  could  it  be  other- 
wise, when  he  has  been  carrying  all  his  fellow-creatures  in  his 
breeches'  pockets  !  Now  he  has  got  rid  of  that  dead  weight, 
I  should  not  be  surprised  if  he  swam  like  a  cork. 

PisiSTRATUS  (who,  sincc  the  Capitalist,  has  become  a  strong 
Anti-Jackian). — But  if,  sir,  you  really  think  Uncle  Jack's  love 
for  his  fellow-creatures  is  genuine,  that  is  surely  not  the  worst 
part  of  him. 

Mr.  Caxton. — O  literal  ratiocinator,  and  dull  to  the  true 
logic  of  Attic  irony  !  can't  you  comprehend  that  an  affection 
may  be  genuine  as  felt  by  the  man,  yet  its  nature  be  spurious 
in  relation  to  others  ?  A' man  may  genuinely  believe  he  loves  his 
fellow-creatures,  when  he  roasts  them  alive  like  Torquemada,  or 
guillotines  them  like  St.  Just!  Happily  Jack's  scalene  triangle, 
being  more  produced  from  air  than  from  lire,  does  not  give 
to  his  philanthropy  the  inflammatory  character  which  distin- 
guishes the  benevolence  of  inquisitors  and  revolutionists.  'I'he 
philanthropy,  therefore,  takes  a  more  flatulent  and  innocent 
form,  and  expends  its  strength  in  mounting  paper  balloons, 
out  of  which  Jack  pitches  himself,  with  all  the  fellow-creatures 
he  can  coax  into  sailing  with  him.  No  doubt  Uncle  Jack's 
philanthropy  is  sincere,  when  he  cuts  the  string  and  soars  up 
out  of  sight  ;  but  the  sincerity  will  not  much  mend  their  bruises 
when  himself  and  fellow-creatures  come  tumbling  down  neck 
and  heels.  It  must  be  a  very  wide  heart  that  can  take  in  all 
mankind — and  of  a  very  strong  fibre  to  bear  so  much  stretch- 
ing. Such  hearts  there  are,  Heaven  be  thanked  !  —  and  all 
praise  to  them  !  Jack's  is  not  of  that  qualit}'.  He  is  a  scalene 
triangle.  He  is  not  a  circle  !  And  yet,  if  he  would  but  let  it 
rest,  it  is  a  good  heart — a  very  good  heart,"  continued  my 
father,  warming  into  a  tenderness  quite  infantine,  all  things 
considered.  "  Poor  Jack  !  that  was  prettily  said  of  him  :  'That 
if  he  were  a  dog,  and  he  had  no  home  but  a  dog-kennel,  he 
would  turn  out  to  give  me  the  best  of  the  straw  I '  Poor  brother 
Jack  !  " 

So  the  discussion  was  dropped  ;  and,  in  the  mean  while, 
Uncle  Jack,  like  the  short-faced  gentleman  in  the  "  Spectator," 
"  distinguished  himself  by  a  profound  silence." 


S8a  THE   CAXTONS. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Blanche  has  contrived  to  associate  herself,  if  not  with  my 
more  active  diversions — in  running  over  the  country,  and  mak- 
ing friends  with  the  farmers — still  in  all  my  more  leisurely  and 
domestic  pursuits.  There  is  about  her  a  silent  charm  that  it 
is  very  hard  to  define,  but  it  seems  to  arise  from  a  kind  of  in- 
nate sympathy  with  the  moods  and  humors  of  those  she  loves. 
If  one  is  gay,  there  is  a  cheerful  ring  in  her  silver  laugh  that 
seems  gladness  itself ;  if  one  is  sad,  and  creeps  away  into  a 
corner  to  bury  one's  head  in  one's  hands,  and  muse,  by-and- 
by,  and  just  at  the  right  moment,  when  one  has  mused  one's 
fill,  and  the  heart  wants  something  to. refresh  and  restore  it, 
one  feels  two  innocent  arms  round  one's  neck — looks  up — and 
lo  !  Blanche's  soft  eyes,  full  of  wistful,  compassionate  kind- 
ness ;  though  she  has  the  tact  not  to  question  ;  it  is  enough 
for  her  to  sorrow  with  your  sorrow — she  cares  not  to  know 
more.  A  strange  child  ! — fearless,  and  yet  seemingly  fond  of 
things  that  inspire  children  with  fear  ;  fond  of  tales  of  fay, 
sprite,  and  ghost,  which  Mrs.  Primmins  draws  fresh  and  new 
from  her  memory,  as  a  conjuror  draws  pancakes  hot  and  hot 
from  a  hat.  And  yet  so  sure  is  Blanche  of  her  own  innocence 
that  they  never  trouble  her  dreams  in  her  lone  little  room,  full 
of  caliginous  corners  and  nooks,  with  the  winds  moaning  round 
the  desolate  ruins,  and  the  casements  rattling  hoarse  in  the 
dungeon-like  wall.  She  would  have  no  dread  to  walk  through 
the  ghostly  keep  in  the  dark,  or  cross  the  churchyard,  what 
time, 

"  By  the  moon's  doubtful  and  malignant  light," 

the  gravestones  look  so  spectral,  and  the  shade  from  the  yew- 
trees  lies  so  still  on  the  sward.  When  the  brows  of  Roland  are 
gloomiest,  and  the  compression  of  his  lips  makes  sorrow  look 
sternest,  be  sure  that  Blanche  is  couched  at  his  feet,  waiting 
the  moment  when,  with  some  heavy  sigh,  the  muscles  relax, 
and  she  is  sure  of  the  smile  if  she  climbs  to  his  knee.  It  is 
pretty  to  chance  on  her  gliding  up  broken  turret  stairs,  or 
standing  hushed  in  the  recess  of  shattered  casements,  and  you 
wonder  what  thoughts  of  vague  awe  and  solemn  pleasure  can 
be  at  work  under  that  still  little  brow. 

She  has  a  quick  comprehension  of  all  that  is  taught  to  her , 
she  already  tasks  to  the  full  my  mother's  educational  arts. 
My  father  has  had  to  rummage  his  library  for  books,  to  feed 
(or  extinguish)  her  desire  for  "  farther  information  ";  and  has 


THE   CAXTONS.  283 

promised  lessons  in  French  and  Italian,  at  some  golden  time  in 
the  shadowy  "  By-and-By,"  which  are  received  so  gratefully 
that  one  might  think  Blanche  mistook  "  T^lemaque  "  and  "  No- 
velle  Morali "  for  baby-houses  and  dolls.  Heaven  sent  her 
through  French  and  Italian  with  better  success  than  attended 
Mr.  Caxton's  lessons  in  Greek  to  Pisistratus  !  She  has  an  ear 
for  music,  which  my  mother,  who  is  no  bad  judge,  declares  to 
be  exquisite.  Luckily  there  is  an  old  Italian  settled  in  a  town 
ten  miles  off,  who  is  said  to  be  an  excellent  music-master,  and 
who  comes  the  round  of  the  neighboring  squirearchy  twice  a 
week.  I  have  taught  her  to  draw — an  accomplishment  in 
which  I  am  not  without  skill — and  she  has  already  taken  a 
sketch  from  nature,  which,  barring  the  perspective,  is  not  so 
amiss;  indeed,  she  has  caught  the  notion  of  "idealizing" 
(which  promises  future  originality)  from  her  own  natural  in- 
stincts, and  given  to  the  old  witch-elm,  that  hangs  over  the 
stream,  just  the  bough  that  it  wanted  to  dip  into  the  water, 
and  soften  off  the  hard  lines.  My  only  fear  is,  that  Blanche 
should  become  too  dreamy  and  thoughtful.  Poor  child,  she 
has  no  one  to  play  with  !  So  I  look  out,  and  get  her  a  dog, 
frisky  and  young,  who  abhors  sedentary  occupations — a  span- 
iel, small  and  coal-black,  with  ears  sweeping  the  ground.  I 
baptize  him  "  Juba,"  in  honor  of  Addison's  Cato,  and  in  con- 
sideration of  his  sable  curls  and  Mauritanian  complexion. 
Blanche  does  not  seem  so  eerie  and  elf-like  while  gliding 
through  the  ruins,  when  Juba  barks  by  her  side,  and  scares 
the  birds  from  the  ivy. 

One  day  I  had  been  pacing  to  and  fro  the  hall,  which  was 
deserted  ;  and  the  sight  of  the  armor  and  portraits — dumb 
evidences  of  the  active  and  adventurous  lives  of  the  old  inhab- 
itants, which  seemed  to  reprove  my  own  inactive  obscurity — ■ 
had  set  me  off  on  one  of  those  Pegas^an  hobbies  on  which 
youth  mounts  to  the  skies — delivering  maidens  on  rocks,  and 
killing  Gorgons  and  monsters — when  Juba  bounded  in,  and 
Blanche  came  after  him,  her  straw  hat  in  her  hand. 

Blanche. — I  thought  you  were  here,  Sisty  :  may  I  stay  ? 

Pisistratus. — Why,  my  dear  child,  the  day  is  so  fine  that, 
instead  of  losing  it  indoors,  you  ought  to  be  running  in  the 
fields  with  Juba. 

Juba. — Bow — wow. 

Blanche. — Will  you  come  too  ?  If  Sisty  stays  in,  Blanche 
does  not  care  for  the  butterflies' 

Pisistratus,  seeing  that  the  thread  of  his  day-dreams  is 
broken,  consents  with  an  air  of  resignation.     Just  as  they  gain 


284  THE   CAXTONS, 

the  door,  Blanche  pauses,  and  looks  as  if  there  were  something 
on  her  mind. 

PisisTRATUS. — What  now,  Blanche  ?  Why  are  you  making 
knots  in  that  ribbon,  and  writing  invisible  characters  on  the 
floor  with  the  point  of  that  busy  little  foot  ? 

Blanche  (mysteriously). — I  have  found  a  new  room,  Sisty. 
Do  you  think  we  may  look  into  it  ? 

PisisTRATUS. — Certainly  ;  unless  any  Bluebeard  of  your 
acquaintance  told  you  not.     Where  is  it  ? 

Blanche. — Upstairs — to  the  left. 

PisisTRATUS. — That  little  old  door,  going  down  two  stone 
steps,  which  is  always  kept  locked  ? 

Blanche. — Yes  !  it  is  not  locked  to-day.  The  door  was 
ajar,  and  I  peeped  in  ;  but  I  would  not  do  more  till  I  came  and 
asked  you  if  you  thought  it  would  not  be  wrong. 

PisisTRATUS. — Very  good  in  you,  my  discreet  little  cousin. 
I  have  no  doubt  it  is  a  ghost-trap  ;  however,  with  Juba's  pro- 
tection, I  think  we  might  veture  together. 

Pisistratus,  Blanche,  and  Juba  ascend  the  stairs,  and  turn 
off  down  a  dark  passage  to  the  left,  away  from  the  rooms  in 
use.  We  reach  the  arch-pointed  door  of  oak  planks  nailed 
roughly  together,  we  push  it  open,  and  perceive  that  a  small 
stair  winds  down  from  the  room  ;  it  is  just  over  Roland's 
chamber. 

The  room  has  a  damp  smell,  and  has  probably  been  left 
open  to  be  aired,  for  the  wind  comes  through  the  unbarred 
casement,  and  a  billet  burns  on  the  hearth.  The  place  has 
that  attractive,  fascinating  air,  which  belongs  to  a  lumber- 
room,  than  which  I  know  nothing  that  so  captivates  the  interest 
and  fancy  of  young  people.  What  treasures,  to  them,  often 
lie  hid  in  those  quaint  odds  and  ends  which  the  elder  genera- 
tions have  discarded  as  rubbish  !  All  children  are  by  nature 
antiquarians  and  relic-hunters.  Still  there  is  an  order  and 
precision  with  which  the  articles  in  that  room  are  stowed  away 
that  belies  the  true  notion  of  lumber — none  of  the  mildew  and 
dust  which  give  such  mournful  interest  to  things  abandoned 
to  decay. 

In  one  corner  are  piled  up  cases,  and  military-looking  trunks 
of  outlandish  aspect,  with  R.  D.  C.  in  brass  nails  on  their 
sides.  From  these  we  turn  with  involuntary  respect,  and  call 
off  Juba,  who  has  wedged  himself  behind  in  pursuit  of  some 
imaginary  mouse.  But  in  the  other  corner  is  what  seems  to 
me  a  child's  cradle — not  an  English  one  evidently  :  it  is  of 
wood,  seemingly  Spanish  rosewood,   with  a  railwork  at  the 


THE   CAXTONS.  28$ 

back,  of  twisted  columns  ;  and  I  should  scarcely  have  known 
it  to  be  a  cradle  but  for  the  fairy-like  quilt  and  the  tiny  pillows, 
which  proclaimed  its  uses. 

On  the  wall  above  the  cradle  were  arranged  sundry  little 
articles,  that  had,  perhaps,  once  made  the  joy  of  a  child's 
heart — broken  toys  with  the  paint  rubbed  off,  a  tin  sword  and 
trumpet,  and  a  few  tattered  books,  mostly  in  Spanish,  by  their 
shape  and  look,  doubtless  children's  books.  Near  these  stood, 
on  the  floor,  a  picture  with  its  face  to  the  wall.  Juba  had 
chased  the  mouse  that  his  fancy  still  insisted  on  creating, 
behind  this  picture,  and,  as  he  abruptly  drew  back,  the  picture 
fell  into  the  hands  I  stretched  forth  to  receive  it.  I  turned 
the  face  to  the  light,  and  was  surprised  to  see  merely  an  old 
family  portrait  ;  it  was  that  of  a  gentleman  in  the  flowered 
vest  and  stiff  ruff  which  referred  the  date  of  his  existence  to 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth — a  man  with  a  bold  and  noble  counte- 
nance. On  the  corner  was  placed  a  faded  coat  of  arms,  beneath 
which  was  inscribed  :  *'  Herbert  de  Caxton,  Eq  :  Aur  : 
^Etat  :  35." 

On  the  back  of  the  canvas  I  observed,  as  I  now  replaced 
the  picture  against  the  wall,  a  label  in  Roland's  handwriting, 
though  in  a  younger  and  more  running  hand  than  he  now 
wrote.  The  words  were  these  :  "  The  best  and  bravest  of 
our  line.  He  charged  by  Sidney's  side  on  the  field  of  Zutphen  ; 
he  fought  in  Drake's  ship  against  the  armament  of  Spain.  If 
ever  I  have  a — "  The  rest  of  the  label  seemed  to  have  been 
torn  off. 

I  turned  away,  and  felt  a  remorseful  shame  that  I  had  so 
far  gratified  my  curiosity,  if  by  so  harsh  a  name  the  powerful 
interest  that  had  absorbed  me  must  be  called.  I  looked  round 
for  Blanche  ;  she  had  retreated  from  my  side  to  the  door,  and, 
with  her  hands  before  her  eyes,  was  weeping.  As  I  stole 
towards  her,  my  glance  fell  on  a  book  that  lay  on  a  chair  near 
the  casement,  and  beside  those  relics  of  an  infancy  once  pure 
and  serene.  By  the  old-fashioned  silver  clasps,  I  recognized 
Roland's  Bible.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  almost  guilty  of  prof- 
anation in  my  thoughtless  intrusion.  I  drew  away  Blanche, 
and  we  descended  the  stairs  noiselessly  ;  and  not  till  we  were 
on  our  favorite  spot,  amidst  a  heap  of  ruins  on  the  feudal  jus- 
tice-hill, did  I  seek  to  kiss  away  her  tears  and  ask  the  cause. 

"  My  poor  brother  !  "  sobbed  Blanche,  "  they  must  have 
been  his — and  we  shall  never,  never  see  him  again  ! — and  poor 
papa's  Bible,  which  he  reads  when  he  is  very,  very  sad  !  I  did 
not  weep  enough  when  my  brother  died.     I  know  better  what 


286  THE    CAXTONS. 

death  is  now  !  Poor  papa  !  poor  papa !  Don't  die,  too, 
Si  sty  !  " 

There  was  no  running  after  butterflies  that  morning  ;  and 
it  was  long  before  I  could  soothe  Blanche.  Indeed,  she  bore 
the  traces  of  dejection  in  her  soft  looks  for  many,  many  days  ; 
and  she  often  asked  me,  sighingly  :  "  Don't  you  think  it  was 
very  wrong  in  me  to  take  you  there  ?  "  Poor  little  Blanche, 
true  daughter  of  Eve,  she  would  not  let  me  bear  my  due  share 
of  the  blame  ;  she  would  have  it  all  in  Adam's  primitive  way 
of  justice  :  "  The  woman  tempted  me,  and  I  did  eat."  And 
since  then  Blanche  had  seemed  more  fond  than  ever  of  Roland, 
and  comparatively  deserts  me  to  nestle  close  to  him,  and 
closer,  till  he  looks  up  and  says  :  "  My  child,  you  are  pale  ; 
go  and  run  after  the  butterflies  ";  and  she  says  now  to  him, 
not  to  me  :  "  Come  too  !  "  drawing  him  out  into  the  sunshine 
with  a  hand  that  will  not  loose  its  hold. 

Of  all  Roland's  line,  this  Herbert  de  Caxton  was  "  the  best 
and  bravest ! "  Yet  he  had  never  named  that  ancestor  to  me — 
never  put  any  forefather  in  comparison  with  the  dubious  and 
mythical  Sir  William.  I  now  remembered  once,  that,  in  going 
over  the  pedigree,  I  had  been  struck  by  the  name  of  Herbert — 
the  only  Herbert  in  the  scroll — and  had  asked  :  "  What  of 
him,  uncle  ?"  and  Roland  had  muttered  something  inaudible, 
and  turned  away.  And  I  remembered,  also,  that  in  Roland's 
room  there  was  the  mark  in  the  wall  where  a  picture  of  that 
size  had  once  hung.  The  picture  had  been  removed  thence 
before  we  first  came,  but  must  have  hung  there  for  years  to 
have  left  that  mark  on  the  wall — perhaps  suspended  by  Bolt, 
during  Roland's  long  continental  absence.  "  If  ever  I  have 
a — "  What  were  the  missing  words  ?  Alas  !  did  they  not 
relate  to  the  son — missed  forever,  evidently  not  forgotten 
still  ? 

CHAPTER  IV. 

My  uncle  sat  on  one  side  the  fireplace,  my  mother  on  the 
other  ;  and  I,  at  a  small  table  between  them,  prepared  to  note 
down  the  results  of  their  conference  ;  for  they  had  met  in  high 
council,  to  assess  their  joint  fortunes — determine  what  should 
be  brought  into  the  common  stock,  and  set  apart  for  the  Civil 
List,  and  what  should  be  laid  aside  as  a  Sinking-Fund.  Now 
my  mother,  true  woman  as  she  was,  had  a  womanly  love  of 
show  in  her  own  quiet  way — of  making  •*  a  genteel  figure  "  in 
the  eyes  of  the  neighborhood — of  seeing  that  sixpence  not  only 


THE    CAXTONS.  287 

went  as  far  as  sixpence  ought  to  go,  but  that,  in  the  going,  it 
should  emit  a  mild  but  imposing  splendor — not,  indeed,  a 
gaudy  flash,  a  startling  Borealian  coruscation,  which  is  scarcely 
within  the  modest  and  placid  idiosyncrasies  of  sixpence,  but  a 
gleam  of  gentle  and  benign  light,  just  to  show  where  a  six- 
pence had  been,  and  allow  you  time  to  say  "  Behold  !  "  before 

"  The  jaws  of  darkness  did  devour  it  up." 

Thus,  as  I  once  before  took  occasion  to  apprise  the  reader, 
we  had  always  held  a  very  respectable  position  in  the  neigh- 
borhood round  our  square  brick  house  ;  been  as  sociable  as 
my  father's  habits  would  permit ;  given  our  little  tea-parties, 
and  our  occasional  dinners,  and  without  attempting  to  vie  with 
our  richer  associates,  there  had  always  been  so  exquisite  a 
neatness,  so  notable  a  housekeeping,  so  thoughtful  a  disposition, 
in  short,  of  all  the  properties  indigenous  to  a  well-spent  six- 
pence, in  my  mother's  management,  that  there  was  not  an  old 
maid  within  seven  miles  of  us  who  did  not  pronounce  our  tea- 
parties  to  be  perfect ;  and  the  great  Mrs.  Rollick,  who  gave 
forty  guineas  a  year  to  a  professed  cook  and  housekeeper,  used 
regularly,  whenever  we  dined  at  Rollick  Hall,  to  call  across 
the  table  to  my  mother  (who  therewith  blushed  up  to  her  ears), 
to  apologize  for  the  strawberry  jelly.  It  is  true,  that  when,  on 
returning  home,  my  mother  adverted  to  that  flattering  and 
delicate  compliment,  in  a  tone  that  revealed  the  self-conceit  of 
the  human  heart,  my  father,  whether  to  sober  his  Kitty's  vanity 
into  a  proper  and  Christian  mortification  of  spirit,  or  from 
that  strange  shrewdness  which  belonged  to  him,  would  remark 
that  Mrs.  Rollick  was  of  a  querulous  nature  ;  that  the  compli- 
ment was  meant  not  to  please  my  mother,  but  to  spite  the  pro- 
fessed cook  and  housekeeper,  to  whom  the  butler  would  be 
sure  to  repeat  the  invidious  apology. 

In  settling  at  the  Tower,  and  assuming  the  head  of  its  es- 
tablishment, my  mother  was  naturally  anxious  that,  poor  bat- 
tered invalid  though  the  Tower  was,  it  should  still  put  its  best 
leg  foremost.  Sundry  cards,  despite  the  thinness  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, had  been  left  at  the  door  ;  various  invitations,  which 
my  uncle  had  hitherto  declined,  had  greeted  his  occupation 
of  the  ancestral  ruin,  and  had  become  more  numerous  since 
the  news  of  our  arrival  had  gone  abroad  ;  so  that  my  mother 
saw  before  her  a  very  suitable  field  for  her  hospitable  accom- 
plishments— a  reasonable  ground  for  her  ambition  that  the 
Tower  should  hold  up  its  head,  as  became  a  Tower  that  held 
the  head  of  the  family. 


388  THE    CAXTONS. 

But  not  to  wrong  thee,  O  dear  mother  !  as  thou  sittest  there 
opposite  the  grim  Captain,  so  fair  and  so  neat,  with  thine 
apron  as  white,  and  thy  hair  as  trim  and  as  sheen,  and  thy 
morning  cap,  with  its  ribbons  of  blue,  as  coquettishly  arranged 
as  if  thou  hadst  a  fear  that  the  least  negligence  on  thy  part 
might  lose  thee  the  heart  of  thine  Austin — not  to  wrong  thee 
by  setting  down  to  frivolous  motives  alone  thy  feminine  visions 
of  the  social  amenities  of  life,  I  know  that  thine  heart,  in  its 
provident  tenderness,  was  quite  as  much  interested  as  ever  thy 
vanities  could  be,  in  the  hospitable  thoughts  on  which  thou 
wert  intent.  For,  first  and  foremost,  it  was  the  wish  of  thy 
soul  that  thine  Austin  might,  as  little  as  possible,  be  reminded 
of  the  change  in  his  fortunes — might  miss  as  little  as  possible 
those  interruptions  to  his  abstracted  scholarly  moods,  at  which, 
it  is  true,  he  used  to  fret  and  to  pshaw  and  to  cry  Papse  !  but 
which  nevertheless  always  did  liim  good,  and  freshened  up  the 
stream  of  his  thoughts.  And,  next,  it  was  the  conviction  of 
thine  understanding  that  a  little  society  and  boon  companion- 
ship, and  the  proud  pleasure  of  showing  his  ruins,  and  presid- 
ing at  the  hall  of  his  forefathers,  would  take  Roland  out  of 
those  gloomy  reveries  into  which  he  still  fell  at  times.  And, 
thirdly,  for  us  young  people  ought  not  Blanche  to  find  com- 
panions in  children  of  her  own  sex  and  age?  Already  in  those 
large  black  eyes  there  was  something  melancholy  and  brood- 
ing, as  there  is  in  the  eyes  of  all  children  who  live  only  with 
their  elders  ;  and  for  Pisistratus,  with  his  altered  prospects, 
and  the  one  great  gnawing  memory  at  his  heart — which  he 
tried  to  conceal  from  himself,  but  which  a  mother  (and  a 
mother  who  had  loved)  saw  at  a  glance — what  could  be  better 
than  such  union  and  interchange  with  the  world  around  us, 
small  though  that  world  might  be,  as  woman,  sweet  binder  and 
blender  of  all  social  links,  might  artfully  effect  ?  So  that  thou 
didst  not  go,  like  the  awful  Florentine, 

"  Sopra  lor  vanita  che  par  persona," 

*  over  thin  shadows  that  mocked  the  substance  of  real  forms,* 
but  rather  it  was  the  real  forms  that  appeared  as  shadows  or 
vanita. 

What  a  digression  ! — can  I  never  tell  my  story  in  a  plain, 
straightforward  way  ?  Certainly  I  was  born  under  Cancer, 
and  all  my  movements  are  circumlocutory,  sideways,  and  crab- 
like. 


THE   CAXTONS.  389 


CHAPTER  V. 

**  I  THINK,  Roland,"  said  my  mother,  "  that  the  establish- 
ment is  settled.  Bolt,  who  is  equal  to  three  men  at  least ; 
Primmins,  cook  and  housekeeper  ;  Molly,  a  good  stirring  girl, 
and  willing  (though  I've  had  some  difificulty  in  persuading  her 
to  submit  not  to  be  called  Anna  Maria  ! )  Their  wages  are 
but  a  small  item,  my  dear  Roland." 

"  Hem  !  "  said  Roland,  *'  since  we  can't  do  with  fewer  ser- 
vants at  less  wages,  I  suppose  we  must  call  it  small." 

"  It  is  so,"  said  my  mother,  with  mild  positiveness.  "  And, 
indeed,  what  with  the  game  and  fish,  and  the  garden  and 
poultry-yard,  and  your  own  mutton,  our  housekeeping  will  be 
next  to  nothing." 

"  Hem !  "  again  said  the  thrifty  Roland,  with  a  slight  inflec- 
tion of  the  beetle  brows.  *'  It  may  be  next  to  nothing, 
ma'am — sister — just  as  a  butcher's  shop  maybe  next  to  North- 
umberland  House,  but  there  is  a  vast  deal  between  noth'.ng 
and  that  next  neighbor  you  have  given  it." 

This  speech  was  so  like  one  of  ray  father's — so  naive  an 
imitation  of  that  subtle  reasoner's  use  of  the  rhetorical  figure 
called  ANTANACLASis  (or  repetition  of  the  same  words  in  a 
different  sense),  that  I  laughed  and  my  mother  smiled.  But 
she  smiled  reverently,  not  thinking  of  the  antanaclasis,  as, 
laying  her  hand  on  Roland's  arm,  she  replied  in  the  yet  more 
formidable  figure  of  speech  called  epiphonema  (or  exclama- 
tion) :  "  Yet,  with  all  your  economy,  you  would  have  had 
us—" 

"Tut  !"  cried  my  uncle,  parrying  the  epiphonema  with  a 
masterly  aposiopesis  (or  breaking  off)  ;  "  Tut !  if  you  had 
done  what  I  wished,  I  should  have  had  more  pleasure  for  my 
money  !  " 

My  poor  mother's  rhetorical  armory  supplied  no  weapon  to 
meet  that  artful  aposiopesis;  so  she  dropped  the  rhetoric 
altogether,  and  went  on  with  that  "  unadorned  eloquence  " 
natural  to  her,  as  to  other  great  financial  reformers  :  **  Well, 
Roland,  but  I  am  a  good  housewife,  I  assure  you,  and — don't 
scold  ;  -but  that  you  never  do — I  mean,  don't  look  as  if  you 
would  like  to  scold  ;  the  fact  is,  that,  even  after  setting  aside 
;;^ioo  a  year  for  our  little  parties — " 

''  Little  parties  ! — a  hundred  a  year  !  "  cried  the  Captain 
aghast. 

My  mother  pursued   her   way  remorselessly  :    "Which  we 


29®  THE   CAXT0N5. 

can  well  afford  ;  and  v/ithout  counting  your  half-pay,  wiiich 
you  must  keep  for  pocket-money  and  your  wardrobe  and 
Blanche's,  I  calculate  that  we  can  allow  Pisistratus  ;!^x5o  a 
year,  which,  with  the  scholarship  he  is  to  get,  will  keep  him  at 
Cambridge  "  (at  that,  seeing  the  scholarship  was  as  yet  amidst 
the  Pleasures  of  Hope,  I  shook  my  head  doubtfully)  ;  "  and," 
continued  my  mother,  not  heeding  that  sign  of  dissent,  "  we 
shall  still  have  something  to  lay  by." 

The  Captain's  face  assumed  a  ludicrous  expression  of  com- 
passion and  horror  ;  he  evidently  thought  my  mother's  mis- 
fortunes had  turned  her  head. 

His  tormentor  continued. 

"  For,"  said  my  mother,  with  a  pretty,  calculating  shake  of 
her  head,  and  a  movement  of  the  right  forefinger  towards  the 
five  fingers  of  the  left  hand,  "  ^^370 — the  interest  of  Austin's 
fortune — and  ^^50  that  we  may  reckon  for  the  rent  of  our 
house,  make  ;^42o  a  year.  Add  your  j^S^o  a  year  from  the 
farm,  sheep-walk,  and  cottages  that  you  let,  and  the  total  is 
j^TS^-  Now,  with  all  we  get  for  nothing  for  our  housekeep- 
ing, as  I  said  before,  we  can  do  very  well  with  ;^5oo  a  year, 
and  indeed  make  a  handsome  figure.  So,  after  allowing  Sisty 
^150,  we  still  have  ;^ioo  to  lay  by  for  Blanche." 

"  Stop,  stop,  stop  !  "  cried  the  Captain  in  great  agitation  ; 
"  who  told  you  that  I  had  ;^33o  a  year? " 

"  Why,  Bolt — don't  be  angry  with  him." 

"  Bolt  is  a  blockhead.  From  ^^330  a  year  take  ;;^2oo,  and 
the  remainder  is  all  my  income,  besides  my  half-pay." 

My  mother  opened  her  eyes,  and  so  did  I. 

"  To  that  ;;^i3o  add,  if  you  please,  ;;^i3o  of  your  own.  All 
that  you  have  over,  my  dear  sister,  is  yours  or  Austin's,  or  your 
boy's  ;  but  not  a  shilling  can  go  to  give  luxuries  to  a  miserly, 
battered  old  soldier.     Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  No,  Roland,"  said  my  mother,  "  I  don't  understand  you  at 
a)K     Does  not  your  property  bring  in  ;^33o  a  year  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  it  has  a  debt  of  ;;^2oo  a  year  on  it,"  said  the  Cap- 
cain  gloomily  and  reluctantly. 

"  Oh,  Roland  ! "  cried  my  mother  tenderly,  and  approach- 
ing so  near  that,  had  my  father  been  in  the  room,  I  am  sure 
she  would  have  been  bold  enough  to  kiss  the  stern  Captain, 
though  I  never  saw  him  look  sterner  and  less  kissable.  "  Oh, 
Roland  !  "  cried  my  mother,  concluding  that  famous  epipho- 
NEMA  which  my  uncle's  aposiopesis  had  before  nipped  in  the 
bud,  '•  and  yet  you  would  have  made  us,  who  are  twice  as  rich 
rob  you  of  this  little  all !  " 


THE     CAXTONS.  39! 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Roland,  trying  to  smile,  "  but  I  should  have 
had  my  own  way  then,  and  starved  you  shockingly.  No  talk 
then  of  '  little  parties,'  and  such-like.  But  you  must  not  now 
turn  the  tables  against  me,  nor  bring  your  ;^42o  a  year  as  a 
set-off  to  my  ^£1^0." 

"  Why,"  said  my  mother  generously,  "  you  forget  the  money's 
worth  that  you  contribute — all  that  your  grounds  supply,  and 
all  that  we  save  by  it.  I  am  sure  that  that's  worth  a  yearly 
;^3oo  at  the  least." 

"Madam — sister,"  said  the  Captain,  "  I'm  sure  you  don't 
want  to  hurt  my  feelings.  All  I  have  to  say  is,  that,  if  you  add 
to  what  I  bring  an  equal  sum — to  keep  up  the  poor  old  ruin — 
it  is  the  utmost  that  I  can  allow,  and  the  rest  is  not  more  than 
Pisistratus  can  spend." 

So  saying,  the  Captain  rose,  bowed,  and,  before  either  of  us 
could  stop  him,  hobbled  out  of  the  room. 

*'  Dear  me,  Sisty  !  "  said  my  mother,  wringing  her  hands, 
*'  I  have  certainly  displeased  him.  How  could  I  guess  he  had 
so  large  a  debt  on  the  property  ?" 

"  Did  not  he  pay  his  son's  debts  ?  Is  not  that  the  reason 
that—" 

"  Ah  ! "  interrupted  my  mother,  almost  crying,  "  and  it  was 
that  which  ruffled  him,  and  I  not  to  guess  it  ?  What  shall  I 
do  ?  " 

"  Set  to  work  at  a  new  calculation,  dear  mother,  and  let  him 
have  his  own  way." 

"  But  then,"  said  my  mother,  "  your  uncle  will  mope  himself 
to  death,  and  your  father  will  have  no  relaxation,  while  you  see 
that  he  has  lost  his  former  object  in  his  books.  And  Blanche — 
and  you  too.  If  we  were  only  to  contribute  what  dear  Roland 
does,  I  do  not  see  how,  with  ^260  a  year,  we  could  ever  bring 
our  neighbors  round  us  !  I  wonder  what  Austin  would  say  ! 
I  have  half  a  mind — no,  I'll  go  and  look  over  the  week-books 
with  Primmins." 

My  mother  went  her  way  sorrowfully,  and  I  was  left  alone. 

Then  I  looked  on  the  stately  old  hall,  grand  in  its  forlorn 
decay.  And  the  dreams  I  had  begun  to  cherish  at  my  heart 
swept  over  me,  and  hurried  me  along,  far,  far  away  into  the 
golden  land,  whither  Hope  beckons  youth.  To  restore  my 
father's  fortunes — re-weave  the  links  of  that  broken  ambition 
which  had  knit  his  genius  with  the  world — rebuild  those  fallen 
walls — cultivate  those  barren  moors — revive  the  ancient  name — 
glad  the  old  soldier's  age — and  be  to  I'ol/i  the  brothers  what 
Koland  hati  )pst — a  son  !     These  were  my  dreams  ;  and  when 


293  THE    CAXTONS. 

I  woke  from  them,  lo  !  they  had  left  behind  an  intense  pur- 
pose, a  resolute  object.  Dream,  O  youth  ! — dream  manfully 
and  nobly,  and  thy  dreams  shall  be  prophets  ! 

CHAPTER  VI. 

LETTER    FROM    PISISTRATUS   CAXTON,  TO    ALBERT  TREVANION, 

ESQ.,    M.P. 

(The  confession  of  a  youth  who  in  the  Old  World  finds  himself  one  too 

many.) 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Trevanion  : 

"  I  thank  you  cordially,  and  so  we  do  all,  for  your  reply  to 
my  letter,  informing  you  of  the  villanous  traps  through  which 
we  have  passed — not  indeed  with  whole  skins,  but  still  whole 
in  life  and  limb — which,  considering  that  the  traps  were  three, 
and  the  teeth  sharp,  was  more  than  we  could  reasonably  ex- 
pect. We  have  taken  to  the  wastes,  like  wise  foxes  as  we  are, 
and  I  donot  think  a  bait  can  be  found  that  will  again  snare  the 
fox  paternal.  As  for  the  fox  filial,  it  is  different,  and  I  am 
about  to  prove  to  you  that  he  is  burning  to  redeem  the  family 
disgrace.  Ah  !  my  dear  Mr.  Trevanion,  if  you  are  busy  with 
'  blue-books'  when  this  letter  reaches  you,  stop  here,  and  put 
it  aside  for  some  rare  moment  of  leisure.  I  am  about  to  open 
my  heart  to  you,  and  ask  you,  who  know  the  world  so  well,  to 
aid  me  in  an  escape  from  \\\o?,e.  flamfnaittia  mosnia,  wherewith 
I  find  that  world  begirt  and  enclosed.  For  look  you,  sir,  you 
and  my  father  were  right  when  you  both  agreed  that  the  mere 
book-life  was  not  meant  for  me.  And  yet  what  is  not  book- 
life,  to  a  young  man  who  would  make  his  way  through  the  or- 
dinary and  conventional  paths  to  fortune  ?  All  the  professions 
are  so  book-lined,  book-hemmed,  book-choked,  that  wherever 
these  strong  hands  of  mine  stretch  towards  action,  they  find 
themselves  met  by  octavo  ramparts,  flanked  with  quarto  cren- 
ellations.  For  first,  this  college  life,  opening  to  scholarships, 
and  ending,  perchance,  as  you  political  economists  would  de- 
sire, in  Malthusian  fellowships — premiums  for  celibacy — con- 
sider what  manner  of  thing  it  is  ! 

"  Three  years,  book  upon  book — a  great  Dead  Sea  before 
one,  three  years  long,  and  all  the  apples  that  grow  on  the 
shore  full  of  the  ashes  of  pica  and  primer  !  Those  three  years 
ended,  the  fellowship,  it  may  be  won — still  books — books — if 
the  whole  world  does  not  close  at  the  college  gates.  Do  I, 
from  scholar,  effloresce  into  literary  man,  author  by  profes- 
sion ? — books — books  !    Do  I  go  into  the  law  ?— books — books. 


THE   CAXTONS.  293 

Ars  longa,  vita  breiis,  which,  paraphrased,  means  that  it  is 
slow  work  before  one  fags  one's  way  to  a  brief  !  Do  I  turn 
doctor?  Why,  what  but  books  can  kill  time,  until,  at  the  age 
of  forty,  a  lucky  chance  may  permit  me  to  kill  something  else  ? 
The  church  (for  which,  indeed,  I  don't  profess  to  be  good 
enough) — that  is  book-life  par  excellence,  whether,  inglorious 
and  poor,  I  wander  through  long  lines  of  divines  and  fathers  ; 
or,  ambitious  of  bishoprics,  I  amend  the  corruptions,  not  of 
the  human  heart,  but  of  a  Greek  text,  and  through  defiles  of 
scholiasts  and  commentators  win  my  way  to  the  See.  In  short, 
barring  the  noble  profession  of  arms,  which  you  know,  after 
all,  is  not  precisely  the  road  to  fortune,  can  you  tell  me  any 
means  by  which  one  may  escape  these  eternal  books,  this 
mental  clockwork,  and  corporeal  lethargy  ?  Where  can  this 
passion  for  life  that  runs  riot  through  my  veins  find  its  vent  ? 
Where  can  these  stalwart  limbs,  and  this  broad  chest,  grow  of 
value  and  worth,  in  this  hot-bed  of  cerebral  inflammation  and 
dyspeptic  intellect?  I  know  what  is  in  me;  I  know  I  have 
the  qualities  that  should  go  with  stalwart  limbs  and  broad 
chest.  I  have  some  plain  comm.on-sense,  some  promptitude 
and  keenness,  some  pleasure  in  hardy  danger,  some  fortitude 
in  bearing  pain — qualities  for  which  I  bless  Heaven,  for  they 
are  qualities  good  and  useful  in  private  life.  But  in  the  forum 
of  men,  in  the  market  of  fortune,  are  they  not  flocci,  nauci, 
nihili  ? 

"  In  a  word,  dear  sir  and  friend,  in  this  crowded  Old  World, 
there  is  not  the  same  room  that  our  bold  forefathers  found  for 
men  to  walk  about,  and  jostle  their  neighbors.  No ;  they 
must  sit  down  like  boys  at  their  form,  and  work  out  their  tasks, 
with  rounded  shoulders  and  aching  fingers.  There  has  been 
a  pastoral  age,  and  a  hunting  age,  and  a  fighting  age.  Now 
we  have  arrived  at  the  age  sedentar)'.  Men  who  sit  longest 
carry  all  before  them  ;  puny,  delicate  fellows,  with  hands  just 
strong  enough  to  wield  a  pen,  eyes  so  bleared  by  the  midnight 
lamp  that  they  see  no  joy  in  that  buxom  sun  (which  draws  me 
forth  into  the  fields,  as  life  draws  the  living),  and  dige.stive 
organs  worn  and  macerated  by  the  relentless  flagellation  of 
the  brain.  Certainly,  if  this  is  to  be  the  Reign  of  Mind,  it  is 
idle  to  repine,  and  kick  against  the  pricks  ;  but  is  it  true  that 
all  these  qualities  of  action  that  are  within  me  are  to  go 
for  nothing?  If  I  were  rich  and  happy  in  mind  and  circum- 
stance, well  and  good  ;  I  should  shoot,  hunt,  farm,  travel, 
enjoy  life,  and  snap  my  fingers  at  ambition.  If  I  were  so  poor 
and  so  humbly  bred  that  I  could  turn  gamekeeper  or  whipper- 


294  TWE   CAXTONS. 

in,  as  pauper  gentlemen  virtually  did  of  old,  well  and  good 
too  ;  I  should  exhaust  this  troublesome  vitality  of  mine,  by 
nightly. battles  with  poachers,  and  leaps  over  double  dykes  and 
stone  walls.  If  I  were  so  depressed  of  spirit  that  I  could  live 
without  remorse  on  my  father's  small  means,  and  exclaim  with 
Claudian  :  'The  earth  gives  me  feasts  that  cost  nothing,'  well 
and  good  too  ;  it  were  a  life  to  suit  a  vegetable,  or  a  very 
minor  poet.  But  as  it  is  ! — here  I  open  another  leaf  of  my 
heart  to  you  !  To  say  that,  being  poor,  I  want  to  make  a  for- 
tune, is  to  say  that  I  am  an  Englishman.  To  attach  ourselves 
to  a  thing  positive,  belongs  to  our  practical  race.  Even  in  our 
dreams,  if  we  build  castles  in  the  air,  they  are  not  Castles  of 
Indolence — indeed  they  have  very  little  of  the  castle  about 
them,  and  look  much  more  like  Hoare's  Bank  on  the  east  side 
of  Temple  Bar  !  I  desire,  then,  to  make  a  fortune.  But  I 
differ  from  my  countrymen,  first,  by  desiring  only  what  you 
rich  men  would  call  but  a  small  fortune  ;  secondly,  in  wishing 
that  I  may  not  spend  my  whole  life  in  that  fortune-making. 
Just  see,  now,  how  I  am  placed. 

"  Under  ordinary  circumstances,  I  must  begin  by  taking 
from  my  father  a  large  slice  of  an  income  that  will  ill  spare 
paring.  According  to  my  calculation,  my  parents  and  my 
uncle  want  all  they  have  got ;  and  the  subtraction  of  the  yearly 
sum  on  which  Pisistratus  is  to  live,  till  he  can  live  by  his  own 
labors,  would  be  so  much  taken  from  the  decent  comforts  of 
his  kindred.  If  I  return  to  Cambridge,  with  all  economy,  I 
must  thus  narrow  still  more  the  res  angusta  domi  j  and  when 
Cambridge  is  over,  and  I  am  turned  loose  upon  the  world — 
failing,  as  is  likely  enough,  of  the  support  of  a  fellowship — " 
how  many  years  must  I  work,  or  rather,  alas  !  not  work,  at  the 
bar  (which,  after  all,  seems  my  best  calling)  before  I  can  in 
my  turn  provide  for  those  who,  till  then,  rob  themselves  for 
me  ? — till  I  have  arrived  at  middle  life,  and  they  are  old  and 
worn  out — till  the  chink  of  the  golden  bowl  sounds  but  hol- 
low at  the  ebbing  well  !  I  would  wish  that,  if  I  can  make 
money,  those  I  love  best  may  enjoy  it  while  enjoyment  is  yet 
left  to  them  ;  that  my  father  shall  see  "  The  History  of  Human 
Error "  complete,  bound  in  russia  on  his  shelves;  that  my 
mother  shall  have  the  innocent  pleasures  that  content  her, 
before  age  steals  the  light  from  her  happy  smile  ;  that  be'"ore 
Roland's  hair  is  snow-white  (alas  !  the  snows  there  thicken 
fast),  he  shall  lean  on  my  arm,  while  we  settle  together  where 
the  ruin  shall  be  repaired  or  where  left  to  the  owls  ;  and  where 
the  dreary  bleak  waste  around  shall  laugh  with  the  gleam  of 


THE   CAXTONS.  ig^ 

corn — for  you  know  the  nature  of  this  CuitiLer'arid  soil — you, 
who  possess  much  of  it,  and  have  won  so  many  fair  acres  from 
the  wild — you  know  that  my  uncle's  lana,  now  (save  a  single 
farm)  scarce  worth  a  shilling  an  acre,  needs  but  capital  to 
become  an  estate  more  lucrative  than  ever  his  ancestors  owned. 
You  know  that,  for  you  have  applied  your  capital  to  the  same 
kind  of  land,  and,  in  doing  so,  what  blessings — which  you 
scarcely  think  of  in  your  London  Hbrary — you  have  effected  ! 
What  mouths  you  feed,  what  hands  you  employ  !  I  have  cal- 
culated that  my  uncle's  moors,  wnich  now  scarce  maintain  two 
or  three  shepherds,  could,  manured  by  money,  maintain  two 
hundred  families  by  their  labor.  All  this  is  worth  trying  for  ! 
Therefore  Pisistratus  wants  to  make  money.  Not  so  much  ! 
he  does  not  require  millions — a  few  spare  thousand  pounds 
would  go  a  long  way  ;  and  with  a  modest  capital  to  begin 
with,  Roland  should  become  a  true  Squire,  a  real  landowner, 
not  the  mere  lord  of  a  desert.  Now  then,  dear  sir,  advise  me 
how  I  may,  with  such  qualities  as  I  possess,  arrive  at  that 
capital,  ay,  and  before  it  is  too  late,  so  that  money-making 
may  not  last  till  my  grave. 

"  Turning  in  despair  from  this  civilized  world  of  ours,  I 
have  cast  my  eyes  to  a  world  far  older — and  yet  more  to  a 
world  in  its  giant  childhood.  India  here — Australia  there  ! 
What  say  you,  sir — you  who  will  see  dispassionately  those 
things  that  float  before  my  eyes  through  a  golden  haze,  loom- 
ing large  in  the  distance  ?  Such  is  my  confidence  in  your 
judgment,  that  you  tiave  but  to  say.  '  Fool,  give  up  thine  El 
Dorados  and  stay  at  home  ;  stick  to  the  books  and  the  desk  ; 
annihilate  that  redundance  of  animal  life  that  is  in  thee  ;  grow 
a  mental  machine  ;  thy  physical  gifts  are  of  no  avail  to  thee  ; 
take  thy  place  among  the  slaves  of  the  Lamp' — and  I  will 
obey  without  a  murmur.  But  if  I  am  right — if  I  have  in  me 
attributes  that  here  find  no  market  ;  if  my  repinings  are  but 
the  instincts  of  nature,  that,  out  of  this  decrepit  civilization, 
desire  vent  for  growth  in  the  young  stir  of  some  more  rude 
and  vigorous  social  system — then  give  me,  I  pray,  that  advice 
which  may  clothe  my  idea  in  some  practical  and  tangible 
embodiments.     Have  I  made  myself  understood  ? 

"  We  take  no  newspaper  here,  but  occasionally  one  finds 
its  way  from  the  parsonage  ;  and  I  have  lately  rejoiced  at  a 
paragraph  that  spoke  of  your  speedy  entrance  into  the  admin- 
istration as  a  thing  certain.  I  write  to  you  before  you  are  a 
minister  ;  and  you  see  what  I  seek  is  not  in  the  way  of  official 
patronage  :  a  niche  in  an  office  ! — oh,  to  me  that  were  worse 


2g6  THE   CAXTONS. 

than  all.  Yet  I  did  labor  hard  with  you,  but — //lat  was  differ, 
ent  !  I  write  to  you  thus  frankly,  knowing  your  warm,  noble 
heart — and  as  if  you  were  my  father.  Allow  me  to  add  my 
humble  but  earnest  congratulations  on  Miss  Trevanion's 
approaching  marriage  with  one  worthy,  if  not  of  her,  at  least 
of  her  station.  I  do  so  as  becomes  one  whom  you  have 
allowed  to  retain  the  right  to  pray  for  the  happiness  of  you 
and  yours. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Trevanion,  this  is  a  long  letter,  and  I  dare 
not  even  read  it  over,  lest,  if  I  do,  I  should  not  send  it.  Take 
it  with  all  its  faults,  and  judge  of  it  with  that  kindness  with 
which  you  have  judged  ever, 

"Your  grateful  and  devoted  servant, 

"  PiSISTRATUS   CaXTON." 


LETTER  FROM  ALBERT  TREVANION,  ESQ.,  M.P.,  TO  PISISTRATUS 

CAXTON. 

Library  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
Tuesday  night. 

"  Mv  DEAR  PiSISTRATUS  : 

" is  up  !     We  are  in  for  it  for  two  mortal  hours.    I  take 

fiight  to  the  library,  and  devote  those  hours  to  you.  Don't  be 
conceited,  but  that  picture  of  yourself  which  you  have  placed 
before  me  has  struck  me  with  all  the  force  of  an  original. 
The  state  of  mind  which  you  describe  so  vividly  must  be  a 
very  common  one,  in  our  era  of  civilization,  yet  I  have  never 
before  seen  it  made  so  prominent  and  life-like.  You  have 
been  in  my  thoughts  all  day.  Yes,  how  many  young  men 
must  there  be  like  you,  in  this  Old  World,  able,  intelligent, 
active,  and  persevering  enough,  yet  not  adapted  for  success  in 
any  of  our  conventional  professions — '  mute,  inglorious 
Raleighs.'  Your  letter,  young  artist,  is  an  illustration  of  the 
philosophy  of  colonizing.  I  comprehend  better,  after  reading 
it,  the  old  Greek  colonization — the  sending  out  not  only  the 
paupers,  the  refuse  of  an  over-populated  state,  but  a  large 
proportion  of  a  better  class  :  fellows  full  of  pith  and  sap,  and 
exuberant  vitality,  like  yourself,  blending,  in  those  wise 
cleruchice,  a  certain  portion  of  the  aristocratic  with  the  more 
democratic  element ;  not  turning  a  rabble  loose  upon  a  new 
soil,  but  planting  in  the  foreign  allotments  all  the  rudiments 
of  a  harmonious  state,  analogous  to  that  in  the  mother  coun- 
try ;  not  only  getting  rid  of  hungry,  craving  mouths,  but 
furnishing  vent  for  a  waste  surplus  of  intelligence  and  courage, 


THE  CAXTONS.  apy 

which  at  home  is  really  not  needed,  and  more  often  comes  to 
ill  than  to  good — here  only  menaces  our  artificial  embank- 
ments, but  there,  carried  off  in  an  aqueduct,  might  give  life  to 
a  desert. 

"  For  my  part,  in  my  ideal  of  colonization,  I  should  like 
that  each  exportation  of  human  beings  had,  as  of  old,  its 
leaders  and  chiefs,  not  so  appointed  from  the  mere  quality  of 
rank  ;  often,  indeed,  taken  from  the  humbler  classes  ;  but  still 
men  to  whom  a  certain  degree  of  education  should  give 
promptitude,  quickness,  adaptability — men  in  whom  their  fol- 
lowers can  confide.  The  Greeks  understood  that.  Nay,  as 
the  colony  makes  progress  ;  as  its  principal  town  rises  into 
the  dignity  of  a  capital — di polis  that  needs  a  polity — I  some- 
tniies  think  it  might  be  wise  to  go  still  farther,  and  not  only 
transplant  to  it  a  high  standard  of  civilization,  but  draw  it 
more  closely  into  connection  with  the  parent  state,  and  render 
the  passage  of  spare  intellect,  education,  and  civility,  to  and 
fro,  more  facile,  by  drafting  off  thither  the  spare  scions  of 
royalty  itself.  I  know  that  many  of  my  more  '  liberal'  friends 
would  pooh-pooh  this  notion  ;  but  I  am  sure  that  the  colony 
altogether,  when  arrived  to  a  state  that  would  bear  the  impor- 
tation, would  thrive  all  the  better  for  it.  And  when  the  day 
shall  come  (as  to  all  healthful  colonies  it  must  come  sooner  or 
later)  in  which  the  settlement  has  grown  an  independent  state, 
we  may  thereby  have  laid  the  seeds  of  a  constitution  and  a 
civilization  similar  to  our  own,  with  self-developed  forms  of 
monarchy  and  aristocracy,  though  of  a  simpler  growth  than 
old  societies  accept,  and  not  left  a  strange,  motley  chaos  of 
struggling  democracy — an  uncouth,  livid  giant,  at  which  the 
Frankenstein  may  well  tremble,  not  because  it  is  a  giant,  but 
because  it  is  a  giant  half  completed.*  Depend  on  it,  the  New 
World  will  be  friendly  or  hostile  to  the  Old,  twt  in  proportion 
to  the  kinship  of  race,  but  in  proportion  to  the  similarity  of  man- 
ners and  institutions — a  mighty  truth  to  which  we  colonizers 
have  been  blind. 

"  Passing  from  these  more  distant  speculations  to  this  posi- 
tive present  before  us,  you  see  already,  from  what  I  have  said, 
that  I  sympathize  with  your  aspirations  ;  that  I  construe  them 
as  you  would  have  me  ;  looking  to  your  nature  and  to  your 
objects,  1  give  you  my  advice  in  a  word — Emigrate  ! 

*  These  pages  were  sent  to  press_  before  the  author  had  seen  Mr.  Wakefield's  recent 
work  on  Colonization,  wherein  the  views  here  expressed  are  enforced  with  great  earnest- 
ness and  conspicuous  sagacity.  The  author  is  not  the  less  pleased  at  this  coincidence  of 
opinion,  because  he  has  the  misfortune  to  dissent  from  certain  other  parts  of  Mr.  Wake- 
field's elaborate  theory. 


298  THE    CAXTONS. 

"  My  advice  is,  however,  founded  on  one  hypothesis,  viz., 
that  you  are  perfectly  sincere — you  will  be  contented  with  a 
rough  life,  and  with  a  moderate  fortune  at  the  end  of  your 
probation.  Don't  dream  of  emigrating  if  you  want  to  make 
a  million,  or  the  tenth  part  of  a  million.  Don't  dream  of 
emigrating,  unless  you  ean  enjoy  its  hardships — to  bear  them 
is  not  enough  ! 

"Australia  is  the  land  for  you,  as  you  seem  to  surmise. 
Australia  is  the  land  for  two  classes  of  emigrants:  First,  The 
man  who  has  nothing  but  his  wits,  and  plenty  of  them  ; 
Secondly,  The  man  who  has  a  small  capital,  and  who  is  con- 
tented to  spend  ten  years  in  trebling  it.  I  assume  that  you 
belong  to  the  latter  class.  Take  out  ^^3000,  and,  before  you 
are  thirty  years  old,  you  may  return  with  ^10,000  or  ^12,000. 
If  that  satisfies  you,  think  seriously  of  Australia.  By  coach, 
to-morrow,  I  will  send  you  down  all  the  best  books  and 
reports  on  the  subject ;  and  I  will  get  you  what  detailed  in- 
formation I  can  from  the  Colonial  Office.  Having  read  these, 
and  thought  over  them  dispassionately,  spend  some  months 
yet  among  the  sheep-walks  of  Cumberland  ;  learn  all  you 
can  from  all  the  shepherds  you  can  find — from  Thyrsis  to 
Menalcas.  Do  more  ;  fit  yourself  in  every  way  for  a  life  in 
the  Bush,  where  the  philosophy  of  the  division  of  labor  is  not 
yet  arrived  at.  Learn  to  turn  your  hand  to  everything.  Be 
something  of  a  smith,  something  of  a  carpenter — do  the  best 
you  can  with  the  fewest  tools ;  make  yourself  an  excellent 
shot ;  break  in  all  the  wild  horses  and  ponies  you  can  borrow 
and  beg.  Even  if  you  want  to  do  none  of  these  things  when 
in  your  settlement,  the  having  learned  to  do  them  will  fit  you 
for  many  other  things  not  now  foreseen.  De-fine-gentlemanize 
yourself  from  the  crown  of  your  head  to  the  sole  of  your  foot, 
and  become  the  greater  aristocrat  for  so  doing  ;  for  he  is 
more  than  an  aristocrat,  he  is  a  king,  who  suffices  in  all  things 
for  himself ;  who  is  his  own  master,  becau.se  he  wants  no 
valetaille.  1  think  Seneca  has  expressed  that  thought  before 
me  ;  and  I  would  quote  the  passage,  but  the  book,  I  fear,  is 
not  in   the   library   of   the    House   of   Commons.     But   now 

(cheers,  by  Jove  !  I  suppose is  down  !     Ah  !  it  is  so  ;  and 

C is  up,  and  that  cheer  followed  a  sharp  hit  at  me.     How 

I  wish  I  were  your  age,  and  going  to  Australia  with  you  !) 
But  now — to  resume  my  suspended  period — but  now  to  the 
important  point — capital.  You  must  take  that,  unless  you  go 
as  a  shepherd,  and  then  good-by  to  the  idea  of  ^10,000  in  ten 
years,     So,  you  see,  it  appears  at  the  first  blush  that  you  must 


THE    CAXTONS.  299 

Still  come  to  your  father  ;  but,  you  will  say,  with  this  difference, 
that  you  borrow  the  capital  with  every  chance  of  repaying  it 
instead  of  frittering  away  the  income  year  after  year  till  you 
are  eight-and-thirty  or  forty  at  least.  Still,  Pisistratus,  you 
don't,  in  this,  gain  your  object  at  a  leap  ;  and  my  dear  old 
friend  ought  not  to  lose  his  son  and  his  money  too.  You  say 
you  write  to  me  as  to  your  own  father.  You  know  I  hate 
professions  ;  and  if  you  did  not  mean  what  you  say,  you  have 
offended  me  mortally.  As  a  father,  then,  I  take  a  father's 
rights,  and  speak  plainly.  A  friend  of  mine,  Mr.  Bolding,  a 
clergyman,  has  a  son — a  wild  fellow,  who  is  likely  to  get  into 
all  sorts  of  scrapes  in  England,  but  with  plenty  of  good  in  him, 
notwithstanding — frank,  bold,  not  wanting  in  talent,  but  rather 
in  prudence,  easily  tempted  and  led  away  into  extravagance.  He 
would  make  a  capital  colonist  (no  such  temptations  in  the 
Bush  !)  if  tied  to  a  youth  like  you.  Now  I  propose,  with  your 
leave,  that  his  father  shall  advance  him  ^1500,  which  shall  not, 
however,  be  placed  in  his  hands,  but  in  yours,  as  head  partner 
in  the  firm.  You,  on  your  side,  shall  advance  the  same  sum 
of  ;^i5oo,  which  you  shall  borrow  from  me,  for  three  years 
without  interest.  At  the  end  of  that  time  interest  shall 
commence,  and  the  capital,  with  the  interest  on  the  said  first 
three  years,  shall  be  repaid  to  me,  or  my  executors,  on  your 
return.  After  you  have  been  a  year  or  two  in  the  Bush,  and 
felt  your  way,  and  learned  your  business,  you  may  then  safely 
borrow  ^1500  more  from  your  father;  and,  in  the  mean  while, 
you  and  your  partner  will  have  had  together  the  full  sum  of 
^3000  to  commence  with.  You  see  in  this  proposal  I  make  you 
no  gift,  and  I  run  no  risk,  even  by  your  death.  If  you  die  in- 
solvent, I  will  promise  to  come  on  your  father,  poor  fellow  ! — 
for  small  joy  and  small  care  will  he  have  then  in  what  may  be 
left  of  his  fortune.  There — I  have  said  all  ;  and  1  will  never 
forgive  you  if  you  reject  an  aid  that  will  serve  you  so  much, 
and  cost  me  so  little. 

"  I  accept  your  congratulations  on  Fanny's  engagement 
with  Lord  Castleton.  When  you  return  from  Australia  you 
will  still  be  a  young  man,  she  (though  about  your  own  years) 
almost  a  middle-aged  woman,  with  her  head  full  of  pomps  and 
vanities.  All  girls  have  a  short  period  of  girlhood  in  com- 
mon ;  but  when  they  enter  womanhood,  the  woman  becomes 
the  woman  of  her  class.  As  for  me,  and  the  office  assigned  to 
me  by  report,  you  know  what  I  said  when  we  parted,  and — 

but  here  J comes,  and  tells  me  that  *  I  am  expected  to 

speak,  and  answer  N ,  who  is  just  up,  brimful  of  malice,' — 


300  THE    CAXTONS. 

the  House  crowded,  and  hungering  for  personalities.  So  I, 
the  man  of  the  Old  World,  gird  up  my  loins,  and  leave  you 
with  a  sigh,  to  the  fresh  youth  of  the  New— 

*  Ne  tibi  sit  duros  acuisse  in  proelia  dentes.' 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"  Albert  Trevanion." 

CHAPTER  VII. 

So,  reader,  thou  art  now  at  the  secret  of  my  heart. 

Wonder  not  that  I,  a  bookman's  son,  and,  at  certain  periods 
of  my  life,  a  bookman  myself,  though  of  lowly  grade  in  that 
venerable  class — wonder  not  that  I  should  thus,  in  that 
transition  stage  between  youth  and  manhood,  have  turned 
impatiently  from  books.  Most  students,  at  one  time  or  other 
in  their  existence,  have  felt  the  imperious  demand  of  that 
restless  principle  in  man's  nature,  which  calls  upon  each  son 
of  Adam  to  contribute  his  share  to  the  vast  treasury  of  human 
deeds.  And  though  great  scholars  are  not  necessarily,  nor 
usually,  men  of  action,  yet  the  men  of  action  whom  History 
presents  to  our  survey  have  rarely  been  without  a  certain 
degree  of  scholarly  nurture.  For  the  ideas  which  books  quicken, 
books  cannot  always  satisfy.  And  though  the  royal  pupil  of 
Aristotle  slept  with  Homer  under  his  pillow,  it  was  not  that  he 
might  dream  of  composing  epics,  but  of  conquering  new  Ilions 
in  the  East.  Many  a  man,  how  little  soever  resembling  Alex- 
ander, may  still  have  the  conqueror's  aim  in  an  object  that 
action  only  can  achieve,  and  the  book  under  his  pillow  may  be 
the  strongest  antidote  to  his  repose.  And  how  the  stern 
Destinies  that  shall  govern  the  man  weave  their  first  delicate 
tissues  amidst  the  earliest  associations  of  the  child  !  Those  idle 
tales  with  which  the  old  credulous  nurse  had  beguiled  my 
infancy — tales  of  wonder,  knight-errantry,  and  adventure — 
had  left  behind  them  seeds  long  latent — seeds  that  might 
never  have  sprung  up  above  the  soil,  but  that  my  boyhood 
was  so  early  put  under  the  burning-glass,  and  in  the  quick 
forcing-house,  of  the  London  world.  There,  even  amidst 
books  and  s<^udy,  lively  observation  and  petulant  ambition 
broke  forth  from  the  lush  foliage  of  romance,  that  fruitless 
leafiness  of  poetic  youth  !  And  their  passion,  which  is  a  revo- 
lution in  all  the  elements  of  individual  man,  had  called  a  new 
state  of  being,  turbulent  and  eager,  out  of  the  old  habits  and 
conventional  forms  it  had  buried — ashes  that  speak  where  the 


THE    CAXTONS.  3OI 

fire  has  been.  Far  from  me,  as  from  any  mind  of  some  manli- 
ness, be  the  attempt  to  create  interest  by  dwelling  at  length 
on  the  struggles  against  a  rash  and  misplaced  attachment, 
which  it  was  my  duty  to  overcome  ;  but  all  such  love,  as  I 
have  before  implied,  is  a  terrible  unsettler  : 

"  Where  once  such  fairies  dance,  no  grass  doth  ever  grow." 

To  re-enter  boyhood,  go  with  meek  docility  through  its  dis- 
ciplined routine — how  hard  had  I  found  that  return,  amidst 
the  cloistered  monotony  of  college  !  My  love  for  my  father, 
and  my  submission  to  his  wish,  had  indeed  given  some  anima- 
tion to  objects  otherwise  distasteful ;  but,  now  that  my  return 
to  the  Univcsity  must  be  attended  with  positive  privation  to 
those  at  home,  the  idea  became  utterly  hateful  and  repugnant. 
Under  pretence  that  I  found  myself,  on  trial,  not  yet  sufficiently 
prepared  to  do  credit  to  my  father's  name,  I  had  easily  obtained 
leave  to  lose  the  ensuing  college  term,  and  pursue  my  studies 
at  home.  This  gave  me  time  to  prepare  my  plans,  and  bring 
round — how  shall  I  ever  bring  round  to  my  adventurous  views 
those  whom  I  propose  to  desert  ?  Hard  it  is  to  get  on  in  the 
world — very  hard  !  But  the  most  painful  step  in  the  way  is 
that  which  starts  from  the  threshold  of  a  beloved  home. 

How — ah,  how,  indeed  !  "  No,  Blanche,  you  cannot  join 
me  to-day ;  I  am  going  out  for  many  hours.  So  it  will  be  late 
before  I  can  be  home." 

Home  ! — the  word  chokes  me  !  Juba  slinks  back  to  his 
young  mistress,  disconsolate ;  Blanche  gazes  at  me  ruefully 
from  our  favorite  hill-top,  and  the  flowers  she  has  been  gather- 
ing fall  unheeded  from  her  basket.  I  hear  my  mother's  voice 
singing  low,  as  she  sits  at  work  by  her  open  casement.  How — 
ah,  how,  indeed  ! 


PART    THIRTEENTH. 


CHAPTER   I. 

St.  Chrysostom,  in  his  work  on  The  Priesthood,  defends 
deceit,  if  for  a  good  purpose,  by  many  Scriptural  examples ; 
ends  his  first  book  by  asserting  that  it  is  often  necessary,  and 
that  much  benefit  may  arise  from  it ;  and  begins  his  second 


362  THE    CAXTONS. 

book  by  saj'ing  that  it  ought  not  to  be  called  deceit,  but 
*^'' good  management.'"  * 

Good  management,  then,  let  me  call  the  innocent  arts  by 
which  I  now  sought  to  insinuate  my  project  into  favor  and 
assent  with  my  unsuspecting  family.  At  first  I  began  with 
Roland.  I  easily  induced  him  to  read  some  of  the  books,  full 
of  the  charm  of  Australian  life,  which  Trevanion  had  sent  me  ; 
and,  so  happily  did  those  descriptions  suit  his  own  erratic 
tastes,  and  the  free,  half-savage  man  that  lay  rough  and  large 
within  that  soldierly  nature,  that  he  himself,  as  it  were,  seemed 
to  suggest  my  own  ardent  desire — sighed,  as  the  careworn 
Trevanion  had  done,  that  "  he  was  not  my  age,"  and  blew  the 
flame  that  consumed  me  with  his  own  willing  breath.  So  that 
when  at  last — wandering  one  day  over  the  wild  moors — I  said, 
knowing  his  hatred  of  law  and  lawyers  : 

'*  Alas,  uncle,  that  nothing  should  be  left  for  me  but  the 
bar  ! " 

Captain  Roland  struck  his  cane  into  the  peat,  and  exclaimed  : 
"  Zounds,  sir !  the  bar  and  lying,  with  truth  and  a  world  fresh 
from  God  before  you  ! " 

"  Your  hand,  uncle — we  understand  each  other.  Now  help 
me  with  those  two  quiet  hearts  at  home  !  " 

"  Plague  on  my  tongue  !  what  have  I  done  ?"  said  the  Cap- 
tain, looking  aghast.  Then,  after  musing  a  little  time,  he 
turned  his  dark  eye  on  me,  and  growled  out :  "  I  suspect, 
young  sir,  you  have  been  laying  a  trap  for  me  ;  and  I  have 
fallen  into  it,  like  an  old  fool  as  I  am." 

"  Oh,  sir,  if  you  prefer  the  bar  ! — " 

"  Rogue  !  " 

"  Or,  indeed,  I  might  perhaps  get  a  clerkship  in  a  mer- 
chant's office  ?  " 

"  If  you  do,  I  will  scratch  you  out  of  the  pedigree  ! " 

"  Huzza,  then,  for  Australasia  !  " 

"Well,  well,  well,"  said  my  uncle, 

"  With  a  smile  on  his  lip,  and  a  tear  in  his  eye"  ; 

"the  old  sea-king's  blood  will  force  its  way — a  soldier  or  a 
rover,  there  is  no  other  choice  for  you.  We  shall  mourn  and 
miss  you  ;  but  who  can  chain  the  young  eagles  to  the  eyrie  ? " 
I  had  a  harder  task  with  my  father,  who  at  first  seemed  to 
listen  to  me  as  if  I  had  been  talking  of  an  excursion  to  the 
moon.  But  I  threw  in  a  dexterous  dose  of  the  old  Greek 
CleruchicB — cited  by  Trevanion — which  set  him  off  full  trot  on 

♦  Hohler's  Translation. 


tH6;    CAXTONS,  JOJ 

his  hobby,  till  after  a  short  excursion  to  Euboea  and  the  Cher- 
sonese, he  was  fairly  lost  amidst  the  Ionian  colonies  of  Asia 
Minor.  I  then  gradually  and  artfully  decoyed  him  into  his 
favorite  science  of  Ethnology  ;  and,  while  he  was  speculating 
on  the  origin  of  the  American  savages,  and  considering  the 
rival  claims  of  Cimmerians,  Israelites,  and  Scandinavians,  I 
said  quietly  :  '*  And  you,  sir,  who  think  that  all  human  im- 
provement depends  on  the  mixture  of  races — you,  whose  whole 
theory  is  an  absolute  sermon  upon  emigration,  and  the  trans- 
planting and  interpolity  of  our  species — you,  sir,  should  be  the 
last  man  to  chain  your  son,  your  elder  son,  to  the  soil,  while 
your  younger  is  the  very  missionary  of  rovers." 

"  Pisistratus,"  said  my  father,  "  you  reason  by  synecdoche — 
ornamental  but  illogical  ";  and  therewith,  resolved  to  hear  no 
more,  my  father  rose  and  retreated  into  his  study. 

But  his  observation,  now  quickened,  began  from  that  day  to 
follow  my  moods  and  humors  ;  then  he  himself  grew  silent 
and  thoughtful,  and  finally  he  took  to  long  conferences  with 
Roland.  The  result  was,  that  one  evening  in  spring,  as  I  lay 
listless  amidst  the  weeds  and  fern  that  sprang  up  through  the 
melancholy  ruins,  I  felt  a  hand  on  my  shoulder  ;  and  my 
father,  seating  himself  beside  me  on  a  fragment  of  stone,  said 
earnestly  :  "  Pisistratus,  let  us  talk — I  had  hoped  better  things 
from  your  study  of  Robert  Hall." 

"  Nay,  dear  father,  the  medicine  did  me  great  good  :  I  have 
not  repined  since,  and  I  look  steadfastly  and  cheerfully  on 
life.  But  Robert  Hall  fulfilled  his  mission,  and  I  would  fulfil 
mine." 

"  Is  there  no  mission  in  thy  native  land,  O  planeticose  and 
exallotriote  spirit  ?  "  *  asked  my  father,  with  compassionate 
rebuke. 

**  Alas,  yes  !  But  what  the  impulse  of  genius  is  to  the  great, 
the  instinct  of  vocation  is  to  the  mediocre.  In  every  man 
there  is  a  magnet  ;  in  that  thing  which  the  man  can  do  best 
there  is  a  loadstone." 

"  Papse  !  "  said  my  father,  opening  his  eyes  ;  "  and  are  no 
loadstones  to  be  found  for  you  nearer  than  the  Great  Austral- 
asian Bight  ?  " 

"  Ah,  sir,  if  you  resort  to  irony  I  can  say  no  more  !  "  My 
father  looked  down  on  me  tenderly,  as  I  hung  my  head,  moody 
and  abashed. 

"  Son,"  said  he,  "  do  you  think  that  there  is  any  real  jest  at 

*  Words  coined  by  Mr.  Caxton  from  TrXaVTjTUidg,  disposed  to  roaming,  »nd  k^ak'kcrTpidu, 
to  export,  to  alienate. 


^64  tHE    CAXtONS. 

my  heart,  when  the  matter  discussed  is  whether  you  are  to  put 
wide  seas  and  long  years  between  us  ?  "  I  pressed  nearer  to  his 
side,  and  made  no  answer. 

"  But  I  have  noted  you  of  late,"  continued  my  father,  "  and 
I  have  observed  that  your  old  studies  are  grown  distasteful  to 
you  ;  and  I  have  talked  with  Roland,  and  I  see  that  your 
desire  is  deeper  than  a  boy's  mere  whim.  And  then  I  have 
asked  myself  what  prospect  I  can  hold  out  at  home  to  induce 
you  to  be  contented  here,  and  I  see  none  ;  and  therefore  I 
should  say  to  you,  '  Go  thy  ways,  and  God  shield  thee  ' — but 
Pisistratus,  7^//r  mother  !  " 

"  Ah,  sir,  that  is  indeed  the  question  !  and  there  indeed  I 
shrink.  But,  after  all,  whatever  I  were — whether  toiling  at 
the  bar,  or  in  some  public  office — I  should  be  still  so  much  from 
home  and  her.  And  then  you,  sir — she  loves  you  so  entirely, 
that—" 

"  No,"  interrupted  my  father  ;  "  you  can  advance  no  argu- 
ments like  these  to  touch  a  mother's  heart.  There  is  but  one 
argument  that  comes  home  there — is  it  for  your  good  to  leave 
her  ?  If  so,  there  will  be  no  need  of  further  words.  But  let 
us  not  decide  that  question  hastily  ;  let  you  and  I  be  together 
the  next  two  months.  Bring  your  books  and  sit  with  me  ; 
when  you  want  to  go  out,  tap  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  say 

*  Come.'     At  the  end  of  those  two  months  I  will  say  to  you 

*  Go,'  or  *  Stay.'  And  you  will  trust  me  ;  and  if  I  say  the  last, 
you  will  submit?" 

"  Oh  yes,  sir — yes  !  " 


CHAPTER   II. 

This  compact  made,  my  father  roused  himself  from  all  his 
studies — devoted  his  whole  thoughts  to  me — sought  with  all 
his  gentle  wisdom  to  wean  me  imperceptibly  from  my  one  fixed, 
tyrannical  idea,  ranged  through  his  wide  pharmacy  of  books 
for  such  medicaments  as  might  alter  the  system  of  my  thoughts. 
And  little  thought  he  that  his  very  tenderness  and  wisdom 
worked  against  him,  for  at  each  new  instance  of  either  my 
heart  called  aloud  :  "  Is  it  not  that  thy  tenderness  may  be 
repaid,  and  thy  wisdom  be  known  abroad,  that  I  go  from  thee 
into  the  strange  land,  O  my  father  ! " 

And  the  two  months  expired,  and  my  father  saw  that  the 
magnet  had  turned  unalterably  to  the  loadstone  in  the  great 
Australasian  Bight ;  and  he  said  to  me :   "  Go,  and  comfort 


tHE    CAXTONS.  305 

your  mother.  I  have  told  her  your  wish,  and  authorized  it  by 
my  consent,  for  I  believe  now  that  it  is  for  your  good." 

I  found  my  mother  in  the  little  room  she  had  appropriated 
to  herself  next  my  father's  study.  And  in  that  room  there  was 
a  pathos  which  I  have  no  words  to  express  ;  for  my  mother's 
meek,  gentle,  womanly  soul  spoke  there,  so  that  it  was  the 
Home  of  Home.  The  care  with  which  she  had  transplanted 
from  the  brick  house,  and  lovingly  arranged,  all  the  humble 
memorials  of  old  times,  dear  to  her  affections — the  black  sil- 
houette of  my  father's  profile  cut  in  paper,  in  the  full  pomp  of 
academics,  cap  and  gown  (how  had  he  ever  consented  to  sit 
for  it  !),  framed  and  glazed  in  the  place  of  honor  over  the  little 
hearth  ;  and  boyish  sketches  of  mine  at  the  Hellenic  Institute, 
first  essays  in  sepia  and  Indian  ink,  to  animate  the  walls,  and 
bring  her  back,  when  she  sat  there  in  the  twilight  musing  alone, 
to  sunny  hours,  when  Sisty  and  the  young  mother  threw  daisies 
at  each  other ;  and,  covered  with  a  great  glass  shade,  and 
dusted  each  day  with  her  own  hand,  the  flower-pot  Sisty  had 
bought  with  the  proceeds  of  the  domino-box,  on  that  memo- 
rable occasion  on  which  he  had  learned  "  how  bad  deeds  are 
repaired  with  good."  There,  in  one  corner,  stood  the  little 
cottage  piano,  which  I  remembered  all  my  life — old-fashioned, 
and  with  the  jingling  voice  of  approaching  decrepitude,  but 
still  associated  with  such  melodies  as,  after  childhood,  we  hear 
never  more  !  And  in  the  modest  hanging  shelves,  which 
looked  so  gay  with  ribbons,  and  tassels,  and  silken  cords,  my 
mother's  own  library,  saying  more  to  the  heart  than  all  the 
cold,  wise  poets  whose  souls  my  father  invoked  in  his  grand 
Heraclea.  The  Bible  over  which,  with  eyes  yet  untaught  to 
read,  I  had  hung  in  vague  awe  and  love,  as  it  lay  open  on  my 
mother's  lap,  while  her  sweet  voice,  then  only  serious,  was 
made  the  oracle  of  its  truths.  And  my  first  lesson-books  were 
there,  all  hoarded.  And  bound  in  blue  and  gold,  but  elabo- 
rately papered  up,  "  Cowper's  Poems  " — a  gift  from  my  father 
in  the  days  of  courtship — sacred  treasure,  which  not  even  I 
had  the  privilege  to  touch  ;  and  which  my  mother  took  out 
only  in  the  great  crosses  and  trials  of  conjugal  life,  whenever 
some  words  less  kind  than  usual  had  dropped  unawares  from 
her  scholar's  absent  lips.  Ah  !  all  these  poor  household  gods, 
all  seemed  to  look  on  me  with  mild  anger  ;  and  from  all  came  a 
voice  to  my  soul :  "Cruel,  dost  thou  forsake  us  !  And  amongst 
them  sat  my  mother,  desolate  as  Rachel,  and  weeping  silently. 

"  Mother  !  mother  !  "  I  cried,  falling  on  her  neck,  "  forgive 
me — it  is  past — I  cannot  leave  you  !  " 


3o6  THE   CAXTONS. 


CHAPTER   III. 


«'  No — no  ;  it  is  for  your  good — Austin  says  so.  Go — it  is 
but  the  first  shock." 

Then  to  my  mother  I  opened  the  sluices  of  that  deep  I  had 
concealed  from  scholar  and  soldier.  To  her  I  poured  all  the 
wild,  restless  thoughts  which  wandered  through  the  ruins  of 
love  destroyed — to  her  I  confessed  what  to  myself  I  had 
scarcely  before  avowed.  And  when  the  picture  of  that,  the 
darker,  side  of  my  mind,  was  shown,  it  was  with  a  prouder 
face,  and  less  broken  voice,  that  I  spoke  of  the  manlier  hopes 
and  nobler  aims  that  gleamed  across  the  wrecks  and  the  desert, 
and  showed  me  my  escape. 

"  Did  you  not  once  say,  mother,  that  you  had  felt  it  like  a 
remorse,  that  my  father's  genius  passed  so  noisele'isly  away — 
half  accusing  the  happiness  you  gave  him  for  the  u^ath  of  his 
ambition  in  the  content  of  his  mind  ?  Did  you  not  feel  a  new 
object  in  life  when  the  ambition  revived  at  last,  and  you 
thought  you  heard  the  applause  of  the  world  murmuring  round 
your  scholar's  cell  ?  Did  you  not  share  in  the  day-dreams 
your  brother  conjured  up,  and  exclaim  :  '  If  tny  brother  could 
be  the  means  of  raising  him  in  the  world  !  '  and  when  you 
thought  we  had  found  the  way  to  fame  and  fortune,  did  you 
not  sob  out  from  your  full  heart  :  '  And  it  is  7ny  brother  who 
will  pay  back  to  his  son — all — all  he  gave  up  for  me  '  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  bear  this,  Sisty  ! — cease,  cease  !  " 

"  No  ;  for  you  do  not  yet  understand  me  ?  Will  it  not  be 
better  still,  \l your  son — yours — restore  to  your  Austin  all  that 
he  lost,  no  matter  how  ?  If  through  your  son,  mother,  you  do 
indeed  make  the  world  hear  of  your  husband's  genius — restore 
the  spring  to  his  mind,  the  glory  to  his  pursuits — if  you  rebuild 
even  that  vaunted  ancestral  name,  which  is  glory  to  our  poor 
sonle.'s  Roland — if  your  son  can  restore  the  decay  of  genera- 
tions, and  reconstruct  from  the  dust  the  whole  house  into  which 
you  have  entered,  its  meek  presiding  angel  ? — ah,  mother  !  if 
this  can  be  done  it  will  be  your  work ;  for  unless  you  can 
share  my  ambition,  unless  you  can  dry  those  eyes,  and  smile 
in  my  face,  and  bid  me  go,  with  a  cheerful  voice — all  my  cour- 
age melts  from  my  heart,  and  again  I  say,  I  cannot  leave 
you !  " 

Then  my  mother  folded  her  arms  round  me,  and  we  both 
wept,  and  could  not  speak — but  we  were  both  happy. 


THE    CAXTONS.  ^©7 


CHAPTER    IV. 


Now  the  worst  was  over,  and  my  mother  was  the  most 
heroic  of  us  all.    So  I  began  to  prepare  myself  in  good  earnest, 
and  I  followed  Trevanion's  instructions  with  a  perseverance 
which  I  had  never,  at  that  young  day,  have  thrown   into  the 
dead   life  of   books.     I  was  in  a  good  school,  amongst  our 
Cumberland  sheep-walks,  to  learn  those  simple  elements  of 
rural  art  which  belong  to  the  pastoral  state.     Mr.  Sidney,  in 
his  admirable  "  Australian   Hand-Book,"  recommends  young 
gentlemen  who  think   of   becoming  settlers  in  the  Bush  to 
bivouac  for  three  months  on  Salisbury  Plain.     That  book  was 
not  then  written,  or  I  might  have  taken  the  advice  ;  meanwhile 
I  think,  with  due  respect  to  such  authority,  that  I  went  through 
a  preparatory  training  quite  as  useful   in  seasoning  the  future 
emigrant.     I  associated  readily  with  the  kindly  peasants  and 
craftsmen,  who  became  my  teachers.     With  what  pride  I  pre- 
sented my  father  with  a  desk,  and  my  mother  with  a  work-box, 
fashioned  by  my  own  hands  !    I  made  Bolt  a  lock  for  his  plate- 
chest,  and  (that  last  was  my  magnum  opus,  my  great  master- 
piece) I  repaired  and  absolutely  set  going  an  old  turret-clock 
in  the  tower,  that  had  stood  at   2   p.m.  since  the  memory  of 
man.     I  loved  to  think,  each  time  the  hour  sounded,  that  those 
who  heard  its  deep  chime    would   remember   me.     But   the 
flocks  were  my  main  care.    The  sheep  that  I  tended  and  helped 
to  shear,  and  the  lamb  that  I   hooked  out  of  the  great  marsh, 
and  the  three  venerable  ewes  that  I  nursed  through  a  myste- 
rious sort  of  murrain,  which  puzzled  all  the  neighborhood — are 
they  not  written  in  thy  loving  chronicles,  O  House  of  Caxton  ! 
And  now,  since  much  of  the  success  of  my  experiment  must 
depend  on  the  friendly  terms  I  could  establish  with  my  intended 
partner,  I  wrote  to  Trevanion,  begging  him  to  get  the  young 
gentleman  who  was  to  join  me,  and  whose  capital  I  was  to 
administer,  to  come  and  visit  us.     Trevanion  complied,  and 
there  arrived  a  tall  fellow,  somewhat  more  than  six  feet  high, 
answering  to  the  name  of  Guy  Bolding,  in  a  cutaway  sporting- 
coat,  with  a  dog-whistle  tied  to  the  button-hole  ;  drab  shorts 
and  gaiters,  and  a  waistcoat  with  all  manner  of  strange,  furtive 
pockets.     Guy  Bolding  had  lived  a  year  and  a  ha'.f  at  Oxford 
as  a  "fast  man";  so  ''fast"  had  he   lived  that  there  vflF 
scarcely  a  tradesman  at  Oxford  into  whose  books  he  had  no* 
contrived  to  run. 

His  father  was  compelled  to  withdra^y  him  from  thff  vni- 


3o8  THE   CAXTOMS. 

versity,  at  which  he  had  already  had  the  honor  of  being 
plucked  for  "the  little  go";  and  the  young  gentleman,  on 
being  asked  for  what  profession  he  was  fit,  had  replied  with 
conscious  pride,  "  That  he  could  tool  a  coach  !  "  In  despair, 
the  sire,  who  owed  his  living  to  Trevanion,  had  asked  the 
statesman's  advice,  and  the  advice  had  fixed  me  with  a  partner 
in  expatriation. 

My  first  feeling,  in  greeting  the  "fast  "  man,  was  certainly 
that  of  deep  disappointment  and  strong  repugnance.  But  I  was 
determined  not  to  be  too  fastidious ;  and,  having  a  lucky 
knack  of  suiting  myself  pretty  well  to  all  tempers  (without 
which  a  man  had  better  not  think  of  loadstones  in  the  great 
Australiasian  Bight),  I  contrived  before  the  first  week  was 
out  to  establish  so  many  points  of  connection  betwen  us,  that 
we  became  the  best  friends  in  the  world.  Indeed,  it  would 
have  been  my  fault  if  we  had  not,  for  Guy  Bolding,  with  all  his 
faults,  was  one  of  those  excellent  creatures  who  are  nobody's 
enemies  but  their  own.  His  good-humor  was  inexhaustible. 
Not  a  hardship  or  privation  came  amiss  to  him.  He  had  a 
phrase  "  Such  fun  !  "  that  always  rushed  laughingly  to  his  lips 
when  another  man  would  have  cursed  and  groaned.  If  we  lost 
our  way  in  the  great  trackless  moors,  missed  our  dinner,  and 
were  half-famished,  Guy  rubbed  hands  that  would  have  felled 
an  ox,  and  chuckled  out  "  Such  fun  !  "  If  we  stuck  in  a  bog, 
if  we  were  caught  in  a  thunderstorm,  if  we  were  pitched  head- 
over-heels  by  the  wild  colts  we  undertook  to  break  in,  Guy 
Bolding's  sole  elegy  was  "  Such  fun  !  "  That  grand  shibboleth 
of  philosophy  only  forsook  him  at  the  sight  of  an  open  book. 
I  don't  think  that,  at  that  time,  he  could  have  found  "  fun  " 
even  in  Don  Quixote.  This  hilarious  temperament  had  no 
insensibility  ;  a  kinder  heart  never  beat — but,  to  be  sure,  it 
beat  to  a  strange,  restless,  tarantula  sort  of  measure,  which 
kept  it  in  a  perpetual  dance.  It  made  him  one  of  those  offi- 
ciously good  fellows,  who  are  never  quiet  themselves,  and  never 
let  any  one  else  be  quiet  if  they  can  help  it.  But  Guy's  great 
fault,  in  this  prudent  world,  was  his  absolute  incontinence  of 
money.  If  you  had  turned  a  Euphrates  of  gold  into  his 
pockets  at  morning,  it  would  have  been  as  dry  as  the  great 
Sahara  by  twelve  at  noon.  What  he  did  with  the  money  was  a 
mystery  as  much  to  himself  as  to  every  one  else.  His  father 
said,  in  a  letter  to  me,  that  **  he  had  seen  him  shying  at  spar- 
rows with  half-crowns  !  "  That  such  a  young  man  could  come 
to  no  good  in  England  seemed  perfectly  clear.  Still,  it  is 
recorded  of  many  great  men,  who  did  not  end  their  days  in  a 


THE   CAXTONS.  309 

workhouse,  that  they  were  equally  non-retentive  of  money. 
Schiller,  when  he  had  nothing  else  to  give  away,  gave  the 
clothes  from  his  back,  and  Goldsmith  the  blankets  from  his 
bed.  Tender  hands  found  it  necessary  to  pick  Beethoven's 
pockets  at  home  before  he  walked  out.  Great  heroes,  who 
have  made  no  scruple  of  robbing  the  whole  world,  have  been 
just  as  lavish  as  poor  poets  and  musicians.  Alexander,  in 
parcelling  out  his  spoils,  left  himself  "hope"!  And  as  for 
Julius  Caesar,  he  was  two  millions  in  debt  when  he  shied  his 
last  half-crown  at  the  sparrows  in  Gaul.  Encouraged  by  these 
illustrious  examples,  I  had  hopes  of  Guy  Holding  ;  and  the 
more  as  he  was  so  aware  of  his  own  infirmity  that  he  was  per- 
fectly contented  with  the  arrangement  which  made  me  treas- 
urer of  his  capital,  and  even  besought  me,  on  no  account,  let 
him  beg  ever  so  hard,  to  permit  his  own  money  to  come  in  his 
own  way.  In  fact,  I  contrived  to  gain  a  great  ascendency 
over  his  simple,  generous,  thoughtless  nature  ;  and  by  artful 
appeals  to  his  affections — to  all  he  owed  to  his  father  for  many 
bootless  sacrifices,  and  to  the  duty  of  providing  a  little  dower 
for  his  infant  sister,  whose  meditated  portion  had  half  gone  to 
pay  his  college  debts — I  at  last  succeeded  in  fixing  into  his 
mind  an  object  to  save  for. 

Three  other  companions  did  I  select  for  our  Cleruchia.  The 
first  was  the  son  of  our  old  shepherd,  who  had  lately  married, 
but  was  not  yet  encumbered  with  children — a  good  shepherd, 
and  an  intelligent,  steady  fellow.  The  second  was  a  very  dif- 
ferent character  ;  he  had  been  the  dread  of  the  whole  squire- 
archy. A  more  bold  and  dexterous  poacher  did  not  exist. 
Now  my  acquaintance  with  this  latter  person,  named  Will 
Peterson,  and  more  popularly  "  Will  o'  the  Wisp,"  had  com- 
menced thus  :  Bolt  had  managed  to  rear  in  a  small  copse 
about  a  mile  from  the  house,  and  which  was  the  only  bit  of 
ground  in  my  uncle's  domains  that  might  by  courtesy  be  called 
"a  wood,"  a  young  colony  of  pheasants,  that  he  dignified  by 
the  title  of  a  "  preserve."  This  colony  was  audaciously  de- 
spoiled and  grievously  depopulated,  in  spite  of  two  watchers, 
who,  with  Bolt,  guarded  for  seven  nights  successively  the 
slumbers  of  the  infant  settlement.  So  insolent  was  the  assault 
that  bang,  bang  went  the  felonious  gun — behind,  before — 
within  but  a  few  yards  of  the  sentinels — and  the  gunner  was 
off,  and  the  prey  seized,  before  they  could  rush  to  the  spot. 
The  boldness  and  skill  of  the  enemy  soon  proclaimed  him,  to 
the  experienced  watchers,  to  be  Will  o'  the  Wisp  :  and  so  great 
was  their  dread  of  this  fellow's  strength  and  courage,  and  so 


3IO  THE   CAXTONS. 

complete  their  despair  of  being  a  match  for  his  swiftness  and 
cunning,  that  after  the  seventh  night  the  watchers  refused  to 
go  out  any  longer  ;  and  poor  Bolt  himself  was  confined  to  his 
bed  by  an  attack  of  what  the  doctor  would  have  called  rheum- 
atism, and  a  moralist,  rage.  My  indignation  and  sympathy 
were  greatly  excited  by  this  mortifying  failure,  and  my  inter- 
est romantically  aroused  by  the  anecdotes  I  had  heard  of  Will 
o'  the  Wisp  ;  accordingly,  armed  with  a  thick  bludgeon,  I 
stole  out  at  night,  and  took  my  way  to  the  copse.  The  leaves 
were  not  off  the  trees,  and  how  the  poacher  contrived  to  see 
his  victims  I  know  not  ;  but  five  shots  did  he  fire,  and  not  in 
vain,  without  allowing  me  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  him.  I  then 
retreated  to  the  outskirts  of  the  copse,  and  waited  patiently 
by  an  angle,  which  commanded  two  sides  of  the  wood.  Just 
as  the  dawn  began  to  peep,  I  saw  my  man  emerge  within 
twenty  yards  of  me.  I  held  my  breath,  suffered  him  to  get  a 
few  steps  from  the  wood,  crept  on  so  as  to  intercept  his  retreat, 
and  then  pounce — such  a  bound  !  My  hand  was  on  his 
shoulder — prr,  prr, — no  eel  was  ever  more  lubricate.  He  slid 
from  me  like  a  thing  immaterial,  and  was  off  over  the  moors 
with  a  swiftness  which  might  well  have  baffled  any  clod-hop- 
per— a  race  whose  calves  are  generally  absorbed  in  the  soles 
of  their  hobnail  shoes.  But  the  Hellenic  Institute,  with  its 
classical  gymnasia,  had  trained  its  pupils  in  all  bodily  exer- 
cises ;  and  though  the  Will  o'  the  Wisp  was  swift  for  a  clod- 
hopper, he  was  no  match  at  running  for  any  youth  who  had 
spent  his  boyhood  in  the  discipline  of  cricket,  prisoner's  bar, 
and  hunt-the-hare.  I  reached  him  at  length  and  brought  him 
to  bay. 

"  Stand  back  !  "  said  he,  panting,  and  taking  aim  with  his 
gun  :  "it  is  loaded." 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  but  though  you're  a  brave  poacher,  you  dare 
not  fire  at  your  fellow-man.     Give  up  the  gun  this  instant." 

My  address  took  him  by  surprise  ;  he  did  not  fire.  I  struck 
up  the  barrel  and  closed  on  him.  We  grappled  pretty  tightly, 
and  in  the  wrestle  the  gun  went  off.  The  man  loosened  his 
hold.  "  Lord  ha'  mercy  !  I  have  not  hurt  you  ?  "  he  said  fal- 
teringly. 

"  My  good  fellow — no,"  said  I ;  "  and  now  let  us  throw 
aside  gun  and  bludgeon,  and  fight  it  out  like  Englishmen,  or 
else  let  us  sit  down  and  talk  over  it  like  friends." 

The  Will  o'  the  Wisp  scratched  its  head  and  laughed. 

"Well,  you're  a  queer  one  !  "quoth  it.  And  the  poacher 
dropped  the  gun  and  sat  down. 


THE   CAXTONS.  31I 

We  did  talk  it  over,  and  I  obtained  Peterson's  promise  to 
respect  the  preserve  henceforth  ;  and  we  thereon  grew  so  cor- 
dial that  he  walked  home  with  me,  and  even  presented  me, 
shyly  and  apologetically,  with  the  five  pheasants  he  had  shot. 
From  that  time  I  sought  him  out.  He  was  a  young  fellow 
not  four  and  twenty,  who  had  taken  to  poaching  from  the  wild 
sport  of  the  thing,  and  from  some  confused  notions  that  he 
had  a  license  from  Nature  to  poach.  I  soon  found  out  that 
he  was  meant  for  better  things  than  to  spend  six  months  of 
the  twelve  in  prison,  and  finish  his  life  on  the  gallows  after 
killing  a  gamekeeper.  That  seemed  to  me  his  most  probable 
destiny  in  the  Old  World,  so  I  talked  him  into  a  burning 
desire  for  the  New  one  :  and  a  most  valuable  aid  in  the  Bush 
he  proved  too. 

My  third  selection  was  in  a  personage  who  could  bring  little 
physical  strength  to  help  us,  but  who  had  more  mind  (though 
with  a  wrong  twist  in  it)  than  both  the  others  put  together. 

A  worthy  couple  in  the  village  had  a  son,  who  being  slight 
and  puny,  compared  to  the  Cumberland  breed,  was  shouldered 
out  of  the  market  of  agricultural  labor,  and  went  off,  yet  a 
boy,  to  a  manufacturing  town.  Now  about  the  age  of  thirty, 
this  mechanic,  disabled  for  his  work  by  a  long  illness,  came 
home  to  recover  ;  and  in  a  short  time  we  heard  of  nothing  but 
the  pestilential  doctrines  with  which  he  was  either  shocking  or 
infecting  our  primitive  villagers.  According  to  report,  Cor- 
cyra  itself  never  engendered  a  democrat  more  awful.  The 
poor  man  was  really  very  ill,  and  his  parents  very  poor ;  but 
his  unfortunate  doctrines  dried  up  all  the  streams  of  charity 
that  usually  flowed  through  our  kindly  hamlet.  The  clergy- 
man (an  excellent  man,  but  of  the  old  school)  walked  by  the 
house  as  if  it  were  tabooed.  The  apothecary  said  :  "  Miles 
Square  ought  to  have  wine";  but  he  did  not  send  him  any. 
The  farmers  held  his  name  in  execration,  for  he  had  incited 
all  their  laborers  to  strike  for  another  shilling  a  week.  And 
but  for  the  old  Tower,  Miles  Square  would  soon  have  found 
his  way  to  the  only  republic  in  which  he  could  obtain  that 
democratic  fraternization  for  which  he  .<ighed — the  grave 
being,  I  suspect,  the  sole  commonwealth  which  attains  that 
dead  flat  of  social  equality,  that  life  in  its  every  principle  so 
heartily  abhors. 

My  uncle  went  to  see  Miles  Square,  and  came  back  the 
color  of  purple.  Miles  Square  had  preached  him  a  long 
sermon  on  the  unholiness  of  war.  "  Even  in  defence  of  your 
king  and   country!"    had    roared  the   Captain  :    and     Miles 


312  THE    CAXTONS. 

Square  had  replied  with  a  remark  upon  kings  in  general,  that 
the  Captain  could  not  have  repeated  without  expecting  to  see 
the  old  Tower  fall  about  his  ears  ;  and  with  an  observation 
about  the  country  in  particular,  to  the  effect  that  "  the  country 
would  be  much  better  off  if  it  were  conquered  !  "  On  hearing 
the  report  of  these  loyal  and  patriotic  replies,  my  father  said, 
"  Papae !  "  and,  roused  out  of  his  usual  philosophical  indif- 
ference, went  himself  to  visit  Miles  Square.  My  father  re- 
turned as  pale  as  my  uncle  had  been  purple.  "  And  to  think," 
said  he  mournfully,  *'  that  in  the  town  whence  this  man  comes, 
there  are,  he  tells  me,  ten  thousand  other  of  God's  creatures 
who  speed  the  work  of  civilization  while  execrating  its  laws  !  " 
But  neither  father  nor  uncle  made  any  opposition  when, 
with  a  basket  laden  with  wine  and  arrow-root,  and  a  neat  little 
Bible,  bound  in  brown,  my  mother  took  her  way  to  the  excom- 
municated cottage.  Her  visit  was  as  signal  a  failure  as  those 
that  preceded  it.  Miles  Square  refused  the  basket  ;  "  he  was 
not  going  to  accept  alms,  and  eat  the  bread  of  charity  ";  and 
on  my  mother  meekly  suggesting  that,  "  if  Mr.  Miles  Square 
would  condescend  to  look  into  the  Bible,  he  would  see  that 
even  charity  was  no  sin  in  giver  or  recipient,"  Mr.  Miles 
Square  had  undertaken  to  prove  "  that,  according  to  the  Bible, 
he  had  as  much  a  right  to  my  mother's  property  as  she  had  ; 
that  all  things  should  be  in  common  ;  and  when  things  were 
in  common,  what  became  of  charity  ?  No  ;  he  could  not 
eat  my  uncle's  arrow-root,  and  drink  his  wine,  while  my 
uncle  was  improperly  withholding  from  him  and  his  fel- 
low-creatures so  many  unprofitable  acres  :  the  land  belonged 
to  the  people."  It  was  now  the  turn  of  Pisistratus  to  go.  He 
went  once,  and  he  went  often.  Miles  Square  and  Pisistratus 
wrangled  and  argued — argued  and  wrangled — and  ended  by 
taking  a  fancy  to  each  other  ;  for  this  poor  Miles  Square  was 
not  half  so  bad  as  his  doctrines.  His  errors  arose  from  intense 
sympathy  with  the  sufferings  he  had  witnessed,  amidst  the 
misery  which  accompanies  the  reign  of  millocratism,  and  from 
the  vague  aspirations  of  a  half-taught,  impassioned,  earnest 
nature.  By  degrees,  I  persuaded  him  to  drink  the  wine  and 
eat  the  arrow-root,  en  attendant  that  millennium  which  was  to 
restore  the  land  to  the  people.  And  then  my  mother  came 
again  and  softened  his  heart,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
let  into  its  cold  crotchets  the  warm  light  of  human  gratitude. 
I  lent  him  some  books,  amongst  others  a  few  volumes  on 
Australia.  A  passage  in  one  of  the  latter,  in  which  it  was 
*aid  "  that  an  intelligent  mechanic  usually  made  his  way  in  the 


THE   CAXTONS,  313 

colony,  even  as  a  shepherd,  better  than  a  dull  agricultural 
laborer,"  caught  hold  of  his  fancy,  and  seduced  his  aspirations 
into  a  healthful  direction.  Finally,  as  he  recovered,  he  en- 
treated me  to  let  him  accompany  me.  And  as  I  may  not  have 
to  return  to  Miles  Square,  I  think  it  right  here  to  state,  that 
he  did  go  with  me  to  Australia,  and  did  succeed,  first  as  a 
shepherd,  next  as  a  superintendant,  and  finally,  on  saving 
money,  as  a  landowner  ;  and  that,  in  spite  of  his  opinions  of 
the  unholiness  of  war,  he  was  no  sooner  in  possession  of  a 
comfortable  log  homestead,  than  he  defended  it  with  uncom- 
mon gallantry  against  an  attack  of  the  aborigines,  whose  right 
to  the  soil  was,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  as  good  as  his  claim  to 
my  uncle's  acres  ;  that  he  commemorated  his  subsequent 
acquisition  of  a  fresh  allotment,  with  the  stock  on  it,  by  a  little 
pamphlet,  published  at  Sydney,  on  the  "  Sanctity  of  the  Rights 
of  Property";  and  that,  when  I  left  the  colony,  having  been 
much  pestered  by  two  refractory  "  helps  "  that  he  had  added  to 
his  establishment,  he  had  just  distinguished  himself  by  a  very 
anti-levelling  lecture  upon  the  duties  of  servants  to  their 
employers.  What  would  the  Old  World  have  done  for  this 
man  ! 

CHAPTER  V. 

I  HAD  not  been  in  haste  to  conclude  my  arrangements,  for, 
independently  of  my  wish  to  render  myself  acquainted  with  the 
small  useful  crafts  that  might  be  necessary  to  me  in  a  life  that 
makes  the  individual  man  a  state  in  himself,  I  naturally  desired 
to  habituate  my  kindred  to  the  idea  of  our  separation,  and  to 
plan  and  provide  for  them  all  such  substitutes  or  di.stractions, 
in  compensation  for  my  loss,  as  my  fertile  imagination  could 
suggest.  At  first,  for  the  sake  of  Blanche,  Roland,  and  my 
mother,  I  talked  the  Captain  into  reluctant  sanction  of  his 
sister-in-law's  proposal,  to  unite  their  incomes  and  share  alike, 
without  considering  which  party  brought  the  larger  proportion 
into  the  firm.  I  represented  to  him  that,  unless  he  made  that 
sacrifice  of  his  pride,  my  mother  would  be  wholly  without  those 
little  notable  uses  and  objects — those  small  household  plea- 
sures— so  dear  to  woman  ;  that  all  society  in  the  neighbor- 
hood would  be  impossible,  and  that  my  mother's  time  would 
hang  so  heavily  on  her  hands,  that  her  only  resource  would  be 
to  muse  on  the  absent  one  and  fret.  Nay,  if  he  persisted  in 
so  false  a  pride,  I  told  him,  fairly,  that  I  should  urge  my  father 
to  leave  the  Tower.  These  representations  succeeded,  and 
hospitality  had  commenced  in  the   old  hall,  and  a  knot  of 


314  THE   CAXTONS. 

gossips  had  centred  round  my  mother  ;  groups  of  laughing 
children  had  relaxed  the  still  brow  of  Blanche,  and  the  Captain 
himself  was  a  more  cheerful  and  social  nran.  My  next  point 
was  to  engage  my  father  in  the  completion  of  the  Great  Boole. 
"  Ah,  sir,"  said  I,  "give  me  an  inducement  to  toil,  a  reward 
for  my  industry.  Let  me  think,  in  each  tempting  pleasure, 
each  costly  vice —  *  No,  no  ;  I  will  save  for  the  Great  Book  ! 
and  the  memory  of  the  father  shall  still  keep  the  son  from 
error.'  Ah,  look  you,  sir  !  Mr.  Trevanion  offered  me  the  loan 
of  the  ^1500  necessary  to  commence  with  ;  but  you  gener- 
ously and  at  once  said  :  *  No  ;  you  must  not  begin  life  under 
the  load  of  debt.'  And  I  knew  you  were  right  and  yielded — 
yielded  the  more  gratefully  that  I  could  not  but  forfeit  some- 
thing of  the  just  pride  of  manhood  in  incurring  such  an  obliga- 
tion to  the  father  of — Miss  Trevanion.  Therefore  I  have 
taken  that  sum  from  you — a  sum  that  would  almost  have  suf- 
ficed to  establish  your  younger  and  worthier  child  in  the  world 
forever.  To  that  child  let  me  repay  it,  otherwise  I  will  not 
take  it.  Let  me  hold  it  as  a  trust  for  the  Great  Book  ;  and 
promise  me  that  the  Great  Book  shall  be  ready  when  your 
wanderer  returns,  and  accounts  for  the  missing  talent." 

And  my  father  pished  a  little,  and  rubbed  off  the  dew  that 
had  gathered  on  his  spectacles.  But  I  would  not  leave  him  in 
peace  till  he  had  given  me  his  word  that  the  Great  Book  should 
go  on  a  pas  du  geant — nay,  till  I  had  seen  him  sit  down  to  it 
with  good  heart,  and  the  wheel  went  round  again  in  the  quiet 
mechanism  of  that  gentle  life. 

Finally,  and  as  the  culminating  acme  of  my  diplomacy,  I  ef- 
fected the  purchase  of  the  neighboring  apothecary's  practice  and 
good-will  for  Squills,  upon  terms  which  he  willingly  subscribed 
to  ;  for  the  poor  man  had  pined  at  the  loss  of  his  favorite 
patients,  though.  Heaven  knows,  they  did  not  add  much  to  his 
income.  And  as  for  my  father,  there  was  no  man  who  diverted 
him  more  than  Squills,  though  he  accused  him  of  being  a 
materialist,  and  set  his  whole  spiritual  pack  of  sages  to  worry 
and  bark  at  him  from  Plato  and  Zeno  to  Reid  and  Abraham 
Tucker. 

Thus,  although  I  have  very  loosely  intimated  the  flight  of 
time,  more  than  a  whole  year  elapsed  from  the  date  of  our 
settlement  at  the  Tower  and  that  fixed  for  my  departure. 

In  the  mean  while,  despite  the  rarity  amongst  us  of  that 
phenomenon,  a  newspaper,  we  were  not  so  utterly  cut  off  from 
the  sounds  of  the  far-booming  world  beyond,  but  what  the 
intelligence  of  a  change  in  the  administration,  and  the  appoint- 


THE   CAXTONS.  ^J$ 

ment  of  Mr.  Trevanion  to  one  of  tlie  great  offices  of  stale, 
reached  our  ears.  I  had  kept  up  no  correspondence  with 
Trevanion  subsequent  to  the  letter  that  occasioned  Guy 
Bolding's  visit  ;  I  wrote  now  to  congratulate  him  :  iiis  reply 
was  short  and  hurried. 

An  intelligence  that  startled  me  more,  and  more  deeply 
moved  my  heart,  was  conveyed  to  me,  some  three  months  or 
so  before  my  departure,  by  Trevanion's  steward.  The  ill 
health  of  Lord  Castleton  had  deferred  his  marriage,  intended 
originally  to  be  celebrated  as  soon  as  he  arrived  of  age.  He 
left  the  university  with  the  honors  of  "  a  double  first  class  "  ; 
and  his  constitution  appeared  to  rally  from  the  effects  of 
studies  more  severe  to  him  than  they  might  have  been  to  a 
man  of  quicker  and  more  brilliant  capacities — when  a  feverish 
cold,  caught  at  a  county  meeting,  in  which  his  first  public 
appearance  was  so  creditable  as  fully  to  justify  the  warmest 
hopes  of  his  party,  produced  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and 
ended  fatally.  The  startling  contrast  forced  on  my  mind — 
here,  sudden  death  and  cold  clay,  there,  youth  in  its  first 
flower,  princely  rank,  boundless  wealth,  the  sanguine  expecta- 
tion of  a.l  illustrious  career,  and  the  prospect  of  that  happi- 
ness which  smiled  from  the  eyes  of  Fanny — that  contrast 
impressed  me  with  a  strange  awe  :  death  seems  so  near  to  us 
when  it  strikes  those  whom  life  most  flatters  and  caresses. 
Whence  is  that  curious  sympathy  that  we  all  have  with  the 
possessors  of  worldly  greatness,  when  the  hour-glass  is  shaken 
and  the  scythe  descends  ?  If  the  famous  meeting  between 
Diogenes  and  Alexander  had  taken  place  not  before,  but  after, 
the  achievements  which  gave  to  Alexander  the  name  of  Great, 
the  cynic  would  not,  perhaps,  have  envied  the  hero  his  pleas- 
ures nor  his  splendors — neither  the  charms  of  Statira  nor  the 
tiara  of  the  Mede  ;  but  if,  the  day  after,  a  cry  had  gone  forth, 
**  Alexander  the  Great  is  dead  !  "  verily  I  believe  that  Diogenes 
would  have  coiled  himself  up  in  his  tub,  and  felt  that,  with  the 
shadow  of  the  stately  hero,  something  of  glory  and  of  warmth 
had  gone  from  that  sun,  which  it  should  darken  never  more. 
In  the  nature  of  man,  the  humblest  or  the  hardest,  there  is 
a  something  that  lives  in  all  of  the  Beautiful  or  the  Fortunate, 
which  hope  and  desire  have  appropriated,  even  in  the  vanities 
of  a  childish  dream. 


3l6  THE  CAXTONS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  Why  are  you  here  all  alone,  cousin  ?  How  cold  and  still 
it  is  amongst  the  graves  !  " 

"  Sit  down  beside  me,  Blanche ;  it  is  not  colder  in  the 
churchyard  than  on  the  village  green." 

And  Blanche  sat  down  beside  me,  nestled  close  to  me,  and 
leant  her  head  upon  my  shoulder.  We  were  both  long  silent. 
It  was  an  evening  in  the  early  spring,  clear  and  serene — the 
roseate  streaks  were  fading  gradually  from  the  dark  gray  of 
long,  narrow,  fantastic  clouds.  Tall,  leafless  poplars,  that 
stood  in  orderly,  level  line,  on  the  lowland  between  the  church- 
yard and  the  hill,  with  its  crown  of  ruins,  left  their  sharp  sum- 
mits distinct  against  the  sky.  But  the  shadows  coiled  dull  and 
heavy  round  the  evergreens  that  skirted  the  churchyard,  so 
that  their  outline  was  vague  and  confused  ;  and  there  was  a 
depth  in  that  lonely  stillness,  broken  only  when  the  thrush  flew 
out  from  the  lower  bushes,  and  the  thick  laurel  leaves  stirred 
reluctantly,  and  again  were  rigid  in  repose.  There  is  a  certain 
melancholy  in  the  evenings  of  early  spring,  which  is  among 
those  influences  of  Nature  the  most  universally  recognized,  the 
most  difficult  to  explain.  The  silent  stir  of  reviving  life, 
which  does  not  yet  betray  signs  in  the  bud  and  blossom — only 
in  a  softer  clearness  in  the  air,  a  more  lingering  pause  in  the 
slowly  lengthening  day ;  a  more  delicate  freshness  and  balm 
in  the  twilight  atmosphere ;  a  more  lively,  yet  still  unquiet, 
note  from  the  birds,  settling  down  into  their  coverts  ;  the  vague 
sense  under  all  that  hush,  which  still  outwardly  wears  the 
bleak  sterility  of  winter,  of  the  busy  change,  hourly,  momently, 
at  work,  renewing  the  youth  of  the  world,  reclothing  with 
vigorous  bloom  the  skeletons  of  things — all  these  messages 
from  the  heart  of  Nature  to  the  heart  of  Man  may  well  affect 
and  move  us.  But  why  with  melancholy  ?  No  thought  on 
our  part  connects  and  construes  the  low,  gentle  voices.  It  is 
not  tJiought  that  replies  and  reasons  :  it  is  feeling  that  hears 
and  dreams.  Examine  not,  O  child  of  man  ! — examine  not 
that  mysterious  melancholy  with  the  hard  eyes  of  thy  reason  ; 
thou  canst  not  impale  it  on  the  spikes  of  thy  thorny  logic,  nor 
describe  its  enchanted  circle  by  problems  conned  from  thy 
schools.  Borderer  thyself  of  two  worlds — the  Dead  and  the 
Living — give  thine  ear  to  the  tones,  bow  thy  soul  to  the 
shadows,  that  steal,  in  the  Season  of  Change,  from  the  dim 
Border  Land. 


THE   CAXTONS.  317 

Blanche  (in  a  whisper). — What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  Speak, 
pray  ! 

PisiSTRATUS. — I  was  not  thinking,  Blanche  ;  or,  if  I  were, 
the  thought  is  gone  at  the  mere  effort  to  seize  or  detain  it. 

Blanche  (after  a  pause). — I  know  what  you  mean.  It  is 
the  same  with  me  often — so  often,  when  I  am  sitting  by  my- 
self, quite  still.  It  is  just  like  the  story  Primmins  was  telling 
us  the  other  evening,  "  how  there  was  a  woman  in  her  village 
who  saw  things  and  people  in  a  piece  of  crystal,  not  bigger 
than  my  hand  :  *  they  passed  along  as  large  as  life,  but  they 
were  only  pictures  in  the  crystal."  Since  I  heard  the  story, 
when  aunt  asks  me  what  am  I  thinking  of,  I  long  to  say  : 
"  I'm  not  thinking  !     I  am  seeing  pictures  in  the  crystal  !  " 

PisiSTRATUS. — Tell  my  father  that ;  it  will  please  him. 
There  is  more  philosophy  in  it  than  you  are  aware  of,  Blanche. 
There  are  wise  men  who  have  thought  the  whole  world,  its 
"pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance,"  only  a  phantom  image — a 
picture  in  the  crystal. 

Blanche. — And  I  shall  see  you — see  us  both,  as  we  are  sit- 
ting here — and  that  star  which  has  just  risen  yonder — see  it 
all  in  my  crystal — when  you  are  gone  ! — gone,  cousin  !  (And 
Blanche's  head  drooped.) 

There  was  something  so  quiet  and  deep  in  the  tenderness 
of  this  poor  motherless  child,  that  it  did  not  affect  one  super- 
ficially, like  a  child's  loud  momentary  affection,  in  which  we 
know  that  the  first  toy  will  replace  us.  I  kissed  my  little 
cousin's  pale  face,  and  said :  "  And  I  too,  Blanche,  have  my 
crystal ;  and  when  I  consult  it,  I  shall  be  very  angry  if  I  see 
you  sad  and  fretting,  or  seated  alone.  For  you  must  know, 
Blanche,  that  that  is  all  selfishness.  God  made  us,  not  to 
indulge  only  in  crystal  pictures,  weave  idle  fancies,  pine  alone, 
and  mourn  over  what  we  cannot  help,  but  to  be  alert  and 
active — givers  of  happiness.  Now,  Blanche,  see  what  a  trust 
I  am  going  to  bequeath  you.  You  are  to  supply  my  place  to 
all  whom  I  leave.  You  are  to  bring  sunshine  wherever  you 
glide  with  that  shy,  soft  step — whether  to  your  father,  when 
you  see  his  brows  knit  and  his  arms  crossed  (that,  indeed,  you 
always  do),  or  to  mine,  when  the  volume  drops  from  his  hand  ; 

♦  In  primitive  villages,  in  the  west  of  England,  the  belief  that  the  absent  may  be  seen 
in  a  piece  of  crystal  is,  or  was,  not  many  years  ago,  by  no  means  an  uncommon  superstition. 
I  have  seen  more  than  one  of  these  ma^ic  mirrors,  which  Spenser,  by  the  way,  has  beauti- 
fully described.  They  are  about  the  size  and  shape  of  a  swan's  egg.  It  is  not  every  one, 
however,  who  can  be  a  crystal-seer ;  like  second-sight,  it  is  a  special  gift.  N.B. — Since 
the  above  note  (appended  to  the  first  edition  of  this  work)  was  written,  crystals  and 
crystal-seers  have  become  very  familiar  to  those  who  interest  themselves  in  speculations 
upon  the  disputed  phenomena  ascribed  to  Mesmerical  Clairvoyance, 


3l8  THE    CAXTONS. 

when  he  walks  to  and  fro  the  room,  restless,  and  murmuring 
to  himself — then  you  are  to  steal  up  to  him,  put  your  hand 
in  his,  lead  him  back  to  his  books,  and  whisper  :  '  What  will 
Sisty  say  if  his  younger  brother,  the  Great  Book,  is  not  grown 
up  when  he  comes  back  ?'  And  my  poor  mother,  Blanche  ! — 
ah,  how  can  I  counsel  you  there — how  tell  you  where  to  find 
comfort  for  her  ?  Only,  Blanche,  steal  into  her  heart  and  be 
her  daughter.  And,  to  fulfil  this  threefold  trust,  you  must  not 
content  yourself  with  seeing  pictures  in  the  crystal — do  you 
understand  me  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Blanche,  raising  her  eyes,  while  the  tears 
rolled  from  them,  and  folding  her  arms  resolutely  on  her 
breast. 

"And  so,"  said  I,  "as  we  two,  sitting  in  this  quiet  burial- 
ground,  take  new  heart  for  the  duties  and  cares  of  life,  so  see, 
Blanche,  how  the  stars  come  out,  one  by  one,  to  smile  upon 
us ;  for  they,  too,  glorious  orbs  as  they  are,  perform  their 
appointed  tasks.  Things  seem  to  approximate  to  God  in  pro- 
portion to  their  vitality  and  movement.  Of  all  things,  least 
inert  and  sullen  should  be  the  soul  of  man.  How  the  grass 
grows  up  over  the  very  graves — quickly  it  grows  and  greenly — 
but  neither  so  quick  nor  so  green,  my  Blanche,  as  hope  and 
comfort  from  human  sorrows." 


PART  FOURTEENTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

There  is  a  beautiful  and  singular  passage  in  Dante  (which 
has  not  perhaps  attracted  the  attention  it  deserves),  wherein 
the  stern  Florentine  defends  Fortune  from  the  popular  accusa- 
tions against  her.  According  to  him,  she  is  an  angelic  power 
appointed  by  the  Supreme  Being  to  direct  and  order  the  course 
of  human  splendors  ;  she  obeys  the  will  of  God  ;  she  is  blessed, 
and,  hearing  not  those  who  blaspheme  her,  calm  and  aloft 
amongst  the  other  angelic  powers,  revolves  her  spheral  course, 
and  rejoices  in  her  beatitude.* 

This  is  a  conception  very  different  from  the  popular  notion 
which  Aristophanes,   in  his  true  instinct  of  things  popular 

*  Dante  here  evidently  associates  Fortune  with  the  planetary  influences  of  judicial  as- 
trologj'.  It  is  doubtful  whether  Schiller  ever  read  Dante  ;  but  in  one  of  his  most  thought- 
ful poems  he  undertakes  the  same  defense  of  Fortune,  making  the  Fortunate  a  part  of  th« 
Beautiful. 


THE   CAXTONS.  319 

expresses  by  the  sullen  lips  of  his  Plutus.  That  deity  accounts 
for  his  blindness  by  saying,  that  "  when  a  boy,  he  had  indis- 
creetly promised  to  visit  only  the  good,"  and  Jupiter  was  so 
envious  of  the  good  that  he  blinded  the  poor  money-god. 
Whereon  Chremylus  asks  him,  whether,  "  if  he  recovered  his 
sight,  he  would  frequent  the  company  of  the  good  ? "  *'  Cer- 
tainly," quoth  Plutus,  "for  I  have  not  seen  them  ever  so  long." 
"  Nor  I  either,"  rejoins  Chremylus  pithily,  "  for  all  I  can  see 
out  of  both  eyes." 

But  that  misanthropical  answer  of  Chremylus  is  neither  here 
nor  there,  and  only  diverts  us  from  the  real  question,  and  that 
in  :  **  Whether  Fortune  be  a  heavenly.  Christian  angel,  or  a 
blind,  blundering,  old  heathen  deity?"  For  my  part,  I  hold 
with  Dante — for  which,  if  I  were  so  pleased,  or  if,  at  this 
period  of  my  memoirs,  I  had  half  a  dozen  pages  to  spare,  I 
could  give  many  good  reasons.  One  thing,  however,  is  quite 
clear  :  that,  whether  Fortune  be  more  like  Plutus  or  an  angel, 
it  is  no  use  abusing  her — one  may  as  well  throw  stones  at  a 
star.  And  I  think,  if  one  looked  narrowly  at  her  operations, 
one  might  perceive  that  she  gives  every  man  a  chance,  at  least 
once  in  his  life  ;  if  he  take  and  make  the  best  of  it,  she  will 
renew  her  visits  ;  if  not,  ifur  ad  astra  !  And  therewith  I  am 
reminded  of  an  incident  quaintly  narrated  by  Mariana  in  his 
"  History  of  Spain,"  how  the  army  of  the  Spanish  kings  got 
out  of  a  sad  hobble  among  the  mountains  at  the  Pass  of  Losa, 
by  the  help  of  a  shepherd,  who  showed  them  the  way.  "  But," 
saith  Mariana  parenthetically,  "  some  do  say  the  shepherd  was 
an  angel ;  for,  after  he  had  shown  the  way,  he  was  never  seen 
more."  That  is,  the  angelic  nature  of  the  guide  was  proved 
by  being  only  once  seen,  and,  after  having  got  the  army  out 
of  the  hobble,  leaving  it  to  fight  or  run  away,  as  it  had  most 
mind  to.  Now  I  look  upon  that  shepherd  or  angel,  as  a  very 
good  type  of  my  fortune  at  least.  The  apparition  showed  me 
my  way  in  the  rocks  to  the  great  "  Battle  of  Life " ;  after 
that — hold  fast  and  strike  hard  ! 

Behold  me  in  London  with  Uncle  Roland.  My  poor  parents 
naturally  wished  to  accompany  me,  and  take  the  last  glimpse 
of  the  adventurer  on  board  ship  ;  but  I,  knowing  that  the 
parting  would  seem  less  dreadful  to  them  by  the  hearth-stone, 
and  while  they  could  say  :  "  He  is  with  Roland  ;  he  is  not  yet 
gone  from  the  land" — insisted  on  their  staying  behind  ;  and 
thus  the  farewell  was  spoken.  But  Roland,  the  old  soldier, 
had  so  many  practical  instructions  to  give — could  so  help 
me  in  the  choice  of  the  outfit,  and  the  preparations  for  the 


320  THE    CAXTONS. 

voyage,  that  I  could  not  refuse  his  companionship  to  the  last, 
Guy  Bolding,  who  had  gone  to  take  leave  of  his  father,  was  to 
join  me  in  town,  as  well  as  my  humbler  Cumberland  col- 
leagues. 

As  my  uncle  and  I  were  both  of  one  mind  upon  the  question 
of  economy,  we  took  up  our  quarters  at  a  lodging-house  in 
the  City  ;  and  there  it  was  that  I  first  made  acquaintance  with 
a  part  of  London,  of  which  few  of  my  politer  readers  even  pre- 
tend to  be  cognizant.  I  do  not  mean  any  sneer  at  the  City 
itself,  my  dear  alderman  ;  that  jest  is  worn  out.  I  am  not 
alluding  to  streets,  courts,  and  lanes  ;  what  I  mean  may  be 
seen  at  the  West  End — not  so  well  as  at  the  East,  but  still  seen 
very  fairly ;  I  mean — the  House-tops  ! 

CHAPTER    II. 

BEING    A    CHAPTER    ON    HOUSE-TOPS. 

The  house-tops  !  what  a  soberizing  effect  that  prospect 
produces  on  the  mind.  But  a  great  many  requisites  go  towards 
the  selection  of  the  right  point  of  survey.  It  is  not  enough  to 
secure  a  lodging  in  the  attic  ;  you  must  not  be  fobbed  off  with 
a  front  attic  that  faces  the  street.  First,  your  attic  must  be 
unequivocally  a  back  attic  ;  secondly,  the  house  in  which  it  is 
located  must  be  slightly  elevated  above  its  neighbors  ;  thirdly, 
the  window  must  not  lie  slant  on  the  roof,  as  is  common  with 
attics — in  which  case  you  only  catch  a  peep  of  that  leaden 
canopy  which  infatuated  Londoners  call  the  sky — but  must  be 
a  window  perpendicular,  and  not  half  blocked  up  by  the  para- 
pets of  that  fosse  called  the  gutter  ;  and  lastly,  the  sight  must 
be  so  humored  that  you  cannot  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  pave- 
ments :  if  you  once  see  the  world  beneath,  the  whole  charm  of 
that  world  above  is  destroyed.  Taking  it  for  granted  that 
you  have  secured  these  requisites,  open  your  window,  lean 
your  chin  on  both  hands,  the  elbows  propped  commodiously 
on  the  sill,  and  contemplate  the  extraordinary  scene  which 
spreads  before  you.  You  find  it  difficult  to  believe  life  can  be 
so  tranquil  on  high,  while  it  is  so  noisy  and  turbulent  below. 
What  astonishing  stillness !  Eliot  Warburton  (seductive 
enchanter  !)  recommends  you  to  sail  down  the  Nile  if  you 
want  to  lull  the  vexed  spirit.  It  is  easier  and  cheaper  to  hire 
an  attic  in  Holborn  !  You  don't  have  the  crocodiles,  but  you 
have  animals  no  less  hallowed  in  Egypt — the  cats  !  And  how 
harmoniously  the  tranquil  creatures  blend  with  the  prospect — 


THE    CAXTONS,  32  I 

how  noiselessly  they  glide  along  at  the  distance,  pause,  peer 
about,  and  disappear.  It  is  only  from  the  attic  that  you  can 
appreciate  the  picturesque  which  belongs  to  our  domesticated 
tigerkin  !  The  goat  should  be  seen  on  the  Alps,  and  the  cat 
on  the  house-top. 

By  degrees  the  curious  eye  takes  the  scenery  in  detail  :  and 
first,  what  fantastic  variety  in  the  heights  and  shapes  of  the 
chimney-pots !  Some  all  level  in  a  row,  uniform  and  respect- 
able, but  quite  uninteresting  ;  others,  again,  rising  out  of  all 
proportion,  and  imperatively  tasking  the  reason  to  conjecture 
why  they  are  so  aspiring.  Reason  answers  that  it  is  but  a 
homely  expedient  to  give  freer  vent  to  the  smoke  ;  wherewith 
Imagination  steps  in  and  represents  to  you  all  the  fretting, 
and  fuming,  and  worry,  and  care,  which  the  owners  of  that 
chimney,  now  the  tallest  of  all,  endured,  before,  by  building  it 
higher,  they  got  rid  of  the  vapors.  You  see  the  distress  of  the 
cook,  when  the  sooty  invader  rushed  down,  "  like  a  wolf  on 
the  fold,"  full  spring  on  the  Sunday  joint.  You  hear  the 
exclamations  of  the  mistress  (perhaps  a  bride — house  newly 
furnished)  when,  with  white  apron  and  cap,  she  ventured  into 
the  drawing-room,  and  was  straightway  saluted  by  a  joyous 
dance  of  those  monads,  called  vulgarly  smuts.  You  feel  manly 
indignation  at  the  brute  of  a  bridegroom,  who  rushes  out  from 
the  door,  with  the  smuts  dancing  after  him,  and  swears, 
"  Smoked  out  again  !  By  the  Arch-smoker  himself !  I'll  go 
and  dine  at  the  club."  All  this  might  well  have  been,  till  the 
chimney-pot  was  raised  a  few  feet  nearer  heaven  ;  and  now 
perhaps  that  long-suffering  family  owns  the  happiest  home  in 
the  Row.  Such  contrivances  to  get  rid  of  the  smoke  !  It  is 
not  every  one  who  merely  heightens  his  chimney ;  others  clap 
on  the  hollow  tormentor  all  sorts  of  odd  headgear  and  cowls. 
Here,  patent  contrivances  act  the  purpose  of  weathercocks, 
swaying  to  and  fro  with  the  wind  ;  there,  others  stand  as  fixed 
as  if,  by  a  '^  sic jubeo"  they  had  settled  the  business.  But  of 
all  those  houses  that,  in  the  street,  one  passes  by,  unsuspicious 
of  what's  the  matter  within,  there  is  not  one  in  a  hundred  but 
what  there  has  been  the  devil  to  do,  to  cure  the  chimneys  of 
smoking  !  At  that  reflection,  Philosophy  dismisses  the  sub- 
ject ;  and  decides  that,  whether  one  lives  in  a  hut  or  a  palace, 
the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  look  to  the  hearth — and  get  rid  of 
the  vapors. 

New  beauties  demand  us.  What  endless  undulations  in  the 
various  declivities  and  ascents  ;  here  a  slant,  there  a  zigzag  ! 
With  what  majestic   disdain  yon   roof  rises   up   to  the  left ! 


322  THE    CAXTONS. 

Doubtless,  a  paface  of  Genii  or  Gin  (which  last  is  the  proper 
Arabic  word  for  those  builders  of  halls  out  of  nothing,  em- 
ployed by  Aladdin).  Seeing  only  the  roof  of  that  palace  boldly 
breaking  the  skyline — how  serene  your  contemplations  !  Per- 
haps a  star  twinkles  over  it,  and  you  muse  on  soft  eyes  far 
away  ;  while  below,  at  the  threshold — No,  phantoms  !  we  see 
you  not  from  our  attic.  Note,  yonder,  that  precipitous  fall — 
how  ragged  and  jagged  the  roof-scene  descends  in  a  gorge ! 
He  who  would  travel  on  foot  through  the  pass  of  that  defile, 
of  which  we  see  but  the  picturesque  summits,  stops  his  nose, 
averts  his  eyes,  guards  his  pockets,  and  hurries  along  through 
the  squalor  of  the  grim  London  lazzaroni.  But,  seen  aboz'c, 
what  a  noble  break  in  the  skyline  !  It  would  be  sacrilege  to 
exchange  that  fine  gorge  for  a  dead  flat  of  dull  roof-tops. 
Look  here — how  delightful ! — that  desolate  house  with  no  roof 
at  all — gutted  and  skinned  by  the  last  London  fire !  You  can 
see  the  poor  green-and-white  paper  still  clinging  to  the  walls, 
and  the  chasm  that  once  was  a  cupboard,  and  the  shad- 
ows gathering  black  on  the  aperture  that  once  was  a  hearth  ! 
Seen  below,  how  quickly  you  would  cross  over  the  w-ay ! 
That  great  crack  forebodes  an  avalanche  ;  you  hold  your 
breath,  not  to  bring  it  down  on  your  head.  But,  seen  above^ 
what  a  compassionate,  inquisitive  charm  in  the  skeleton  ruin  ! 
How  your  fancy  runs  riot — repeopling  the  chambers,  hearing 
the  last  cheerful  good-night  of  that  destined  Pompeii,  creep- 
ing on  tiptoe  with  the  mother,  when  she  gives  her  farewell 
look  to  the  baby.  Now  all  is  midnight  and  silence  ;  then  the 
red,  crawling  serpent  comes  out.  Lo  !  his  breath  ;  hark  ! 
his  hiss.  Now,  spire  after  spire  he  winds  and  he  coils  ;  now 
he  soars  up  erect — crest  superb,  and  forked  tongue — the  beau- 
tiful horror  !  Then  the  start  from  the  sleep,  and  the  doubt- 
ful awaking,  and  the  run  here  and  there,  and  the  mother's 
rush  to  the  cradle  ;  the  cry  from  the  window,  and  the  knock 
at  the  door,  and  the  spring  of  those  on  high  towards  the  stair 
that  leads  to  safety  below,  and  the  smoke  rushing  up  like  the 
surge  of  a  hell !  And  they  run  back  stifled  and  blinded,  and 
the  floor  heaves  beneath  them  like  a  bark  on  the  sea.  Hark  ! 
the  grating  wheels  thundering  low  ;  near  and  nearer  comes 
the  engine.  Fix  the  ladders  ! — there  !  there  !  at  the  window, 
where  the  mother  stands  with  the  babe  !  Splash  and  hiss 
comes  the  water  ;  pales,  then  flares  out,  the  fire  :  foe  defies 
foe ;  element,  element.  How  sublime  is  the  war  !  But  the 
ladder,  the  ladder ! — there,  at  the  window  !  All  else  are  saved  : 
the  clerk  and  his  books  ;  the  lawyer  with  thi^t  tin  box  of  title- 


THE    CAXTONS.  323 

deeds  ;  the  landlord,  with  his  policy  of  insurance  ;  the  miser, 
with  his  banknotes  and  gold  :  all  are  saved — all,  but  the  babe 
and  the  mother.  What  a  crowd  in  the  streets !  How  the 
light  crimsons  over  the  gazers,  hundreds  on  hundreds  !  All 
those  faces  seem  as  one  face,  with  fear.  Not  a  man  mounts 
the  ladder.  Yes,  there — gallant  fellow  !  God  inspires — God 
shall  speed  thee !  How  plainly  I  see  him  !  His  eyes  are 
closed,  his  teeth  set.  The  serpent  leaps  up,  the  forked  tongue 
darts  upon  him,  and  the  reek  of  the  breath  wraps  him  round. 
The  crowd  has  ebbed  back  like  a  sea,  and  the  smoke  rushes 
over  them  all.  Ha  !  what  dim  forms  are  those  on  the  ladder  ? 
Near  and  nearer — crash  come  the  roof-tiles.  Alas,  and  alas  ! — 
no  !  a  cry  of  joy — a  "Thank  Heaven  !  "  and  the  women  force 
their  way  through  the  men  to  come  round  the  child  and  the 
mother.  All  is  gone  save  that  skeleton  ruin.  But  the  ruin  is 
seen  from  above.     O  Art  !  study  life  from  the  roof-tops  ! 

CHAPTER  HI. 

I  WAS  again  foiled  in  seeing  Trevanion.  It  was  the  Easter 
recess,  and  he  was  at  the  house  of  one  of  his  brother  ministers, 
somewhere  in  the  north  of  England.  But  Lady  EUinor  was 
in  London,  and  I  was  ushered  into  her  presence.  Nothing 
could  be  more  cordial  than  her  manner,  though  she  was  evi- 
dently much  depressed  in  spirits,  and  looked  wan  and  care- 
worn. 

After  the  kindest  inquiries  relative  to  my  parents  and  the 
Captain,  she  entered  with  much  sympathy  into  my  schemes 
and  plans,  which  she  said  Trevanion  had  confided  to  her.  The 
sterling  kindness  that  belonged  to  my  old  patron  (despite  his 
affected  anger  at  my  not  accepting  his  proffered  loan)  had  not 
only  saved  me  and  my  fellow-adventurer  all  trouble  as  to 
allotment  orders,  but  procured  advice  as  to  choice  of  site  and 
soil,  from  the  best  practical  experience,  which  we  found  after- 
wards exceedingly  useful.  And  as  Lady  EUinor  gave  me  the 
little  packet  of  papers,  with  Trevanion's  shrewd  notes  on  the 
margin,  she  said  with  a  half-sigh  :  "  Albert  bids  me  say 
that  he  wishes  he  were  as  sanguine  of  his  success  in  the  cab- 
inet as  of  yours  in  the  Bush."  She  then  turned  to  her  hus- 
band's rise  and  prospects,  and  her  face  began  to  change.  Her 
eyes  sparkled,  the  color  came  to  her  cheeks  :  "  But  you  are 
one  of  the  few  who  know  him,"  she  said,  interrupting  herself 
suddenly  ;  "  you  know  how  he  sacrifices  all  things — joy,  leisure, 
health — to  his  country.     There  is  not  one  selfish  thought  in 


324  THE   CAXTONS. 

his  nature.  And  yet  such  envy — such  obstacles  still  !  and 
(her  eyes  dropped  on  her  dress,  and  I  perceived  that  she  was 
in  mourning,  though  the  mourning  was  not  deep) — and,"  she 
added,  "  it  has  pleased  Heaven  to  withdraw  from  his  side  one 
who  would  have  been  worthy  his  alliance." 

I  felt  for  the  proud  woman,  though  her  emotion  seemed 
more  that  of  pride  than  sorrow.  And  perhaps  Lord  Cas- 
tleton's  highest  merit  in  her  eyes  had  been  that  of  minis- 
tering to  her  husband's  power  and  her  own  ambition.  I  bowed 
my  head  in  silence  and  thought  of  Fanny.  Did  she,  too,  pine 
for  the  lost  rank,  or  rather  mourn  the  lost  lover  ? 

After  a  time,  I  said  hesitatingly  :  "  I  scarcely  presume  to 
condole  with  you.  Lady  Ellinor  !  yet  believe  me,  few  things 
ever  shocked  me  like  the  death  you  allude  to.  I  trust  Miss 
Trevanion's  health  has  not  much  suffered.  Shall  I  not  see 
her  before  I  leave  England  ? " 

Lady  Ellinor  fixed  her  keen,  bright  eyes  searchingly  on  my 
countenance,  and  perhaps  the  gaze  satisfied  her,  for  she  held 
out  her  hand  to  me  with  a  frankness  almost  tender,  and  said  : 
"  Had  I  had  a  son,  the  dearest  wish  of  my  heart  had  been  to 
see  you  wedded  to  my  daughter." 

I  started  up — the  blood  rushed  to  my  cheeks,  and  then  left 
me  pale  as  death.  I  looked  reproachfully  at  Lady  Ellinor, 
and  the  word  "  cruel  !  "  faltered  on  my  lips. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Lady  Ellinor  mournfully,  "  that  was  my 
real  thought,  my  impulse  of  regret,  when  1  first  saw  you. 
But,  as  it  is,  do  not  think  me  too  hard  and  worldly,  if  I  quote 
the  lofty  old  French  proverb,  Noblesse  oblige.  Listen  to  me, 
my  young  friend — we  may  never  meet  again,  and  I  would  not 
have  your  father's  son  think  unkindly  of  me,  with  all  my  faults. 
From  my  first  childhood  I  was  ambitious — not  as  women 
usually  are,  of  mere  wealth  and  rank — but  ambitious  as  noble 
men  are,  of  power  and  fame.  A  woman  can  only  indulge 
such  ambition  by  investing  it  in  another.  It  was  not  wealth, 
it  was  not  rank,  that  attracted  me  to  Albert  Trevanion  :  it  was 
the  nature  that  dispenses  with  the  wealth,  and  commands  the 
rank.  Nay,"  continued  Lady  Ellinor,  in  a  voice  that  slightly 
trembled,  *'  I  may  have  seen  in  my  youth,  before  I  knew 
Trevanion,  one  (she  paused  a  moment,  and  went  on  hur- 
riedly)— one  who  wanted  but  ambition  to  have  realized  my 
ideal.  Perhaps,  even  when  I  married — and  it  was  said  for 
love — I  loved  less  with  my  whole  heart  than  with  my  whole 
mind.  1  may  say  this  now,  for  now  every  beat  of  this  pulse  is 
wholly  and  only  true  to  him  with  whom  I  have  schemed, 


THE   CAXTONS.  ^2$ 

and  toiled,  and  aspired  ;  with  whom  I  have  grown  as  one  ; 
with  whom  I  have  shared  the  struggle,  and  now  partake  tlie 
triumph,  realizing  the  visions  of  my  youth." 

Again  the  light  broke  from  the  dark  eyes  of  this  grand 
daughter  of  the  world,  who  was  so  superb  a  type  of  that  moral 
contradiction — an  ambitious  woman. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  resumed  Lady  Ellinor,  softening, 
**  how  pleased  I  was  when  you  came  to  live  with  us.  Your 
father  has  perhaps  spoken  to  you  of  me,  and  of  our  first 
acquaintance  ! " 

Lady  Ellinor  paused  abruptly,  and  surveyed  me  as  she 
paused.     I  was  silent. 

**  Perhaps,  too,  he  has  blamed  me.?  "she  resumed,  with  a 
heightened  color. 

"  He  never  blamed  you,  Lady  Ellinor  !  " 

"  He  had  a  right  to  do  so — though  I  doubt  if  he  would  have 
blamed  me  on  the  true  ground.  Yet  no  ;  he  never  could  have 
done  me  the  wrong  that  your  uncle  did,  when,  long  years  ago, 
Mr.  De  Caxton  in  a  letter — the  very  bitterness  of  which  dis- 
armed all  anger — accused  me  of  having  trifled  with  Austin — 
nay,  with  himself  !  And  /le,  at  least,  had  no  right  to  reproach 
me,"  corTtinued  Lady  Ellinor  warmly,  and  with  a  curve  of  her 
haughty  lip  ;  "  for  if  I  felt  interest  in  his  wild  thirst  for  some 
romantic  glory,  it  was  but  in  the  hope  that  what  made  the  one 
brother  so  restless  might  awake  the  other  to  the  ambition  that 
would  have  become  his  intellect,  and  aroused  his  energies.  But 
these  are  old  tales  of  follies  and  delusions  now  no  more  :  only 
this  will  I  say,  that  I  have  ever  felt,  in  thinking  of  your  father, 
and  even  of  your  sterner  uncle,  as  if  my  conscience  reminded  me 
of  a  debt  which  I  had  longed  to  discharge — if  not  to  them,  to 
their  children.  So,  when  we  knew  you,  believe  me,  that  your" 
interests,  your  career,  instantly  became  to  me  an  object.  But 
mistaking  you — when  I  saw  your  ardent  industry  bent  on  se- 
rious objects,  and  accompanied  by  a  mind  so  fresh  and  buoy- 
ant ;  and,  absorbed  as  I  was  in  schemes  or  projects  far  beyond 
a  woman's  ordinary  province  of  hearth  and  home — I  never 
dreamed,  while  you  were  our  guest — never  dreamed  of  danger 
to  you  or  Fanny.  I  wound  you— pardon  me  ;  but  I  must  vin- 
dicate myself.  I  repeat  that,  if  we  had  a  son  to  inherit  our  name, 
to  bear  the  burthen  which  the  world  lays  upon  those  who  are 
born  to  influence  the  world's  destinies,  there  is  no  one  to  whom 
Trevanion  and  myself  would  sooner  have  entrusted  the  happi- 
ness of  a  daughter.  But  my  daughter  is  the  sole  representa- 
tive of  the  mother's  line,  of  the  father's  name  :  it  is  not  her 


326  THE   CAXTONS. 

happiness  alone  that  I  have  to  consult,  it  is  her  duty — duty  to 
her  birthright,  to  the  career  of  the  noblest  of  England's 
patriots — duty,  I  may  say,  without  exaggeration,  to  the  coun- 
try for  the  sake  of  which  that  career  is  run  !  " 

"  Say  no  more,  Lady  EUinor  ;  say  no  more.  I  understand 
you.  I  have  no  hope — I  never  had  hope  :  it  was  a  madness — 
it  is  over.  It  is  but  as  a  friend  that  I  ask  again,  if  I  may  see 
Miss  Trevanion  in  your  presence,  before — before  I  go  alone 
into  this  long  exile,  to  leave,  perhaps,  my  dust  in  a  stranger's 
soil !  Ay,  look  in  my  face — you  cannot  fear  my  resolution, 
my  honor,  my  truth.  But  once,  Lady  Ellinor — but  once  more. 
Do  I  ask  in  vain  ?  " 

Lady  Ellinor  was  evidently  much  moved.  I  bent  down 
almost  in  the  attitude  of  kneeling  ;  and,  brushing  away  her 
tears  with  one  hand,  she  laid  the  other  on  my  head  tenderly, 
and  said  in  a  very  low  voice  : 

"  I  entreat  you  not  to  ask  me  ;  1  entreat  you  not  to  see  my 
daughter.  You  have  shown  that  you  are  not  selfish — conquer 
yourself  still.  What  if  such  an  interview,  however  guarded 
you  might  be,  were  but  to  agitate,  unnerve  my  child,  unsettle 
her  peace,  prey  upon — " 

"  Oh,  do  not  speak  thus — she  did  not  share  my  fedings  !  " 

"  Could  her  mother  own  it  if  she  did  ?  Come,  come,  remem- 
ber how  young  you  both  are.  When  you  return  all  these 
dreams  will  be  forgotten ;  then  we  can  meet  as  before  ;  then 
I  will  be  your  second  mother,  and  again  your  career  shall  be 
my  care  ;  for  do  not  think  that  we  shall  leave  you  so  long  in 
this  exile  as  you  seem  to  forebode.  No,  no  ;  it  is  but  an 
absence — an  excursion — not  a  search  after  fortune.  Your 
fortune — leave  that  to  us  when  you  return  !  " 

"  And  I  am  to  see  her  no  more  !  "  I  murmured,  as  I  rose, 
and  went  silently  towards  the  window  to  conceal  ray  face.  The 
great  struggles  in  life  are  limited  to  moments.  In  the  droop- 
ing of  the  head  upon  the  bosom,  in  the  pressure  of  the  hand 
upon  the  brow,  we  may  scarcely  consume  a  second  in  our 
threescore  years  and  ten  ;  but  what  revolutions  of  our  whole 
being  may  pass  within  us,  while  that  single  sand  drops  noise- 
less down  to  the  bottom  of  the  hour-glass. 

I  came  back  with  firm  step  to  Lady  Ellinor,  and  said  calmly  : 
"  My  reason  tells  me  that  you  are  right,  and  I  submit.  For- 
give me  !  and  do  not  think  me  ungrateful  and  over-proud,  if 
1  add,  that  you  must  leave  me  still  the  object  in  life  that  con- 
soles and  encourages  me  through  all." 

"  What  object  is  that  ? "  asked  Lady  Ellinor  hesitatingly. 


THE   CAXTONS.  32/ 

"Independence  for  myself,  and  ease  to  those  for  whom  life 
is  still  sweet.  This  is  my  twofold  object ;  and  the  means  to 
effect  it  must  be  my  own  heart  and  my  own  hands.  And  now, 
convey  all  my  thanks  to  your  noble  husband,  and  accept  my 
warm  prayers  for  yourself  and  her — whom  I  will  not  name. 
Farewell,  Lady  Ellinor." 

"  No,  do  not  leave  me  so  hastily  ;  I  have  many  things  to 
discuss  with  you — at  least  to  ask  ol  you.  Tell  me  how  your 
father  bears  his  reverse  ? — tell  me,  at  least,  if  there  be  aught 
he  will  suffer  us  to  do  for  him  ?  There  are  many  appoint- 
ments in  Trevanion's  range  of  influence  that  would  suit  even 
the  wilful  indolence  of  a  man  of  letters.  Come,  be  frank  with 
me  !  " 

I  could  not  resist  so  much  kindness  ;  so  I  sat  down,  and,  as 
collectedly  as  I  could,  replied  to  Lady  Ellinor's  questions,  and 
sought  to  convince  her  that  my  father  only  felt  his  losses  so 
far  as  they  affected  me,  and  that  nothing  in  Trevanion's  power 
was  likely  to  tempt  him  from  his  retreat,  or  calculated  to  com- 
pensate  for  a  change  in  his  habits.  Turning  at  last  from  my 
parents.  Lady  Ellinor  inquired  for  Roland,  and,  on  learning 
that  he  was  with  me  in  town,  expressed  a  strong  desire  to  see 
him.  I  told  her  I  would  communicate  her  wish,  and  she  then 
said  thoughtfully  : 

"  He  has  a  son,  I  think,  and  I  have  heard  that  there  is  some 
unhappy  dissension  between  them." 

"  Who  could  have  told  you  that  ? "  I  asked  in  surprise, 
knowing  how  closely  Roland  had  kept  the  secret  of  his  family 
afflictions. 

"  Oh,  I  heard  so  from  some  one  who  knew  Captain  Roland — ■ 
I  forget  when  and  where  I  heard  it — but  is  it  not  the  fact  ?  " 

"  My  Uncle  Roland  has  no  son." 

"  How  !  " 

"  His  son  is  dead." 

"  How  such  a  loss  must  grieve  him." 

I  did  not  speak. 
■r     "  But  is  he  sure  that  his  son  is  dead  ?     What  joy  if  he  were 
mistaken — if  the  .son  yet  lived  !  " 

"  Nay,  my  uncle  has  a  brave  heart,  and  he  is  resigned  ;  but, 
pardon  me,  have  you  heard  anything  of  that  son  ? " 

"  I  !  What  should  I  hear  ?  I  would  fain  learn,  however, 
from  your  uncle  himself,  what  he  might  like  to  tell  me  of  his 
sorrows  ;  or  if,  indeed,  there  be  anv  chance  that — " 

"  That— what  ? " 

*  That — that  his  son  still  survives." 


328  THE   CAXTONS. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  I  ;  "  and  I  doubt  whether  you  will  learn 
much  from  my  uncle.  Still  there  is  something  in  your  words 
that  belies  their  apparent  meaning,  and  makes  me  suspect  that 
you  know  more  than  you  will  say." 

"  Diplomatist  !  "  said  Lady  Ellinor,  half  smiling  ;  but  then, 
her  face  settling  into  a  seriousness  almost  severe,  she  added  : 
*'  It  is  terrible  to  think  that  a  father  should  hate  his  son  !  " 

**  Hate  ! — Roland  hate  his  son  !     What  calumny  is  this  ? " 

"  He  does  not  do  so,  then  !  Assure  me  of  that ;  I  shall  be 
so  glad  to  know  that  I  have  been  misinformed." 

"  I  can  tell  you  this,  and  no  more — for  no  more  do  I  know — 
that  if  ever  the  soul  of  a  father  were  wrapt  up  in  a  son — fear, 
hope,  gladness,  sorrow,  all  reflected  back  on  a  father's  heart 
from  the  shadows  on  a  son's  life — Roland  was  that  father  while 
the  son  lived  still." 

"  I  cannot  disbelieve  you  !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Ellinor,  though 
in  a  tone  of  surprise.     "  Well,  do  let  me  see  your  uncle." 

"  I  will  do  my  best  to  induce  him  to  visit  you,  and  learn  all 
that  you  evidently  conceal  from  me." 

Lady  Ellinor  evasively  replied  to  this  insinuation,  and  shortly 
afterwards  I  left  that  house  in  which  I  had  known  the  happiness 
that  brings  the  folly,  and  the  grief  that  bequeaths  the  wisdom. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

I  HAD  always  felt  a  warm  and  almost  filial  affection  for 
Lady  Ellinor,  independently  of  her  relationship  to  Fanny,  and 
of  the  gratitude  with  which  her  kindness  inspired  me  :  for 
there  is  an  affection  very  peculiar  in  its  nature,  and  very  high 
in  its  degree,  which  results  from  the  blending  of  two  senti- 
ments not  often  allied,  viz.,  pity  and  admiration.  It  was 
impossible  not  to  admire  the  rare  gifts  and  great  qualities  of 
Lady  Ellinor,  and  not  to  feel  pity  for  the  cares,  anxieties,  and 
sorrows  which  tormented  one  who,  with  all  the  sensitiveness 
of  woman,  went  forth  into  the  rough  world  of  man. 

My  father's  confession  had  somewhat  impaired  my  esteem 
for  Lady  Ellinor,  and  had  left  on  my  mind  the  uneasy  impres- 
sion that  she  ^^a' trifled  with  his  deep,  and  Roland's  impetuous, 
heart.  The  conversation  that  had  just  passed  allowed  me  to 
judge  her  with  more  justice — allowed  me  to  see  that  she  had 
really  shared  the  affection  she  had  inspired  in  the  student,  but 
that  ambition  had  been  stronger  than  love — an  ambition,  it 
might  be,  irregular,  and  not  strictly  feminine,  but  still  of  no 
vulgar  nor  sordid  kind.     I  gathered,  too,  from  her  hints  and 


THE   CAXTONS.  ^^^ 

allusions,  her  true  excuse  for  Roland's  misconception  of  her 
apparent  interest  in  himself :  she  had  but  seen,  in  the  wild 
energies  of  the  elder  brother,  some  agency  by  which  to  arouse 
the  serener  faculties  of  the  younger.  She  had  but  sought,  in 
the  strange  comet  that  flashed  before  her,  to  fix  a  lever  that 
might  move  the  star.  Nor  could  I  withhold  my  reverence 
from  the  woman  who,  not  being  married  precisely  from  love, 
had  no  sooner  linked  her  nature  to  one  worthy  of  it,  than  her 
whole  life  became  as  fondly  devoted  to  her  husband's  as  if  he 
had  been  the  object  of  her  first  romance  and  her  earliest  affec- 
tions. If  even  her  child  was  so  secondary  to  her  husband — if 
the  fate  of  that  child  was  but  regarded  by  her  as  one  to  be 
rendered  subservient  to  the  grand  destinies  of  Trevanion — 
still  it  was  impossible  to  recognize  the  error  of  that  conjugal 
devotion  without  admiring  the  wife,  though  one  might  con- 
demn the  mother.  Turning  from  these  meditations,  I  felt  a 
lover's  thrill  of  selfish  joy,  amidst  all  the  mournful  sorrow 
comprised  in  the  thought  that  I  should  see  Fanny  no  more. 
Was  it  true,  as  Lady  Ellinor  implied,  though  delicately,  that 
Fanny  still  cherished  a  remembrance  of  me,  which  a  brief  in-, 
tervievv,  a  last  farewell,  might  reawaken  too  dangerously  for 
hei  peace  ?  Well,  that  was  a  thought  that  it  became  me  not 
to  indulge. 

What  could  Lady  Ellinor  have  heard  of  Roland  and  his  son  ? 
Was  it  possible  that  the  lost  lived  still  ?  Asking  myself  these 
questions,  I  arrived  at  our  lodgings,  and  saw  the  Captain  him- 
self before  me,  busied  with  the  inspection  of  sundry  specimens 
of  the  rude  necessaries  an  Australian  adventurer  requires. 
There  stood  the  old  soldier,  by  the  window,  examining  nar- 
rowly into  the  temper  of  hand-saw  and  tenon-saw,  broad  axe 
and  drawing-knife  ;  and  as  I  came  up  to  him,  he  looked  at 
me  from  under  his  black  brows,  with  gruff  compassion,  and 
said  peevishly  : 

"  Fine  weapons  these  for  the  son  of  a  gentleman  !  One  bit 
of  steel  in  the  shape  of  a  sword  were  worth  them  all." 

"  Any  weapon  that  conquers  fate  is  noble  in  the  hands  of  a 
brave  man,  uncle.'' 

"  The  boy  has  an  answer  for  everything,"  quoth  the  Cap- 
tain, smiling,  as  he  took  out  his  purse  and  paid  the  shopman. 

When  we  were  alone  I  said  to  him  :  "  Uncle,  you  must  go 
and  see  Lady  Ellinor  ;  she  desires  me  to  tell  you  so." 

"  Pshaw  !  " 

"You  will  not?" 

«  No  !  '• 


33©  THE   C  AX  TONS. 

"  Uncle,  I  think  that  she  has  something  to  say  to  you  with 
regard  to — to — pardon  me  ! — to  my  cousin." 

"  To  Blanche  ?  " 

"  No,  no — the  cousin  I  never  saw." 

Roland  turned  pale,  and  sinking  down  on  a  chair,  faltered 
out :  **  To  him — to  my  son  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  do  not  think  it  is  news  to  afflict  you.  Uncle, 
are  you  sure  that  my  cousin  is  dead  ?" 

"  What ! — how  dare  you  ! — who  doubts  it  ?  Dead — dead  to 
me  forever  !  Boy,  would  you  have  him  live  to  dishonor  these 
gray  hairs  ? " 

*'  Sir,  sir,  forgive  me — uncle,  forgive  me  :  but  pray,  go  to 
see  Lady  Ellinor  ;  for  whatever  she  has  to  say,  I  repeat  that  I 
am  sure  it  will  be  nothing  to  wound  you." 

"  Nothing  to  wound  me — yet  relate  to  him  !  " 

It  is  impossible  to  convey  to  the  reader  the  despair  that  was 
in  those  words. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  I,  after  a  long  pause,  and  in  a  low  voice, 
for  I  was  awe-stricken — "  perhap.s — if  he  be  dead — he  may 
have  repented  of  all  offence  to  you  before  he  died." 

'*  Repented — ha,  ha  !  " 

"  Or,  if  he  be  not  dead — " 

"  Hush,  boy— hush  !  " 

"While  there  is  life,  there  is  hope  of  repentance." 

"  Look  you,  nephew,"  said  the  Captain,  rising  and  folding 
his  arms  resolutely  on  his  breast — "  look  you,  I  desired  that 
that  name  might  never  be  breathed  I  have  not  cursed  my 
son  yet ;  could  he  come  to  life — the  curse  might  fall !  You 
do  not  know  what  torture  your  words  havegiven  me,  just  when 
I  had  opened  my  heart  to  another  son,  and  found  that  son  in 
you.  With  respect  to  the  lost,  I  have  now  but  one  prayer,  and 
you  know  it — the  heart-broken  prayer — that  his  name  never 
more  may  come  to  my  ears  !  " 

As  he  closed  these  words,  to  which  I  ventured  no  reply,  the 
Captain  took  long,  disordered  strides  across  the  room  ;  and  sud- 
denly, as  if  the  space  imprisoned,  or  the  air  stifled  him,  he  seized 
his  hat,  and  hastened  into  the  streets.  Recovering  my  surprise 
and  dismay,  I  ran  after  him  ;  but  he  commanded  me  to  leave 
him  to  his  own  thoughts,  in  a  voice  so  stern,  yet  so  sad,  that  I 
had  no  choice  but  to  obey.  I  knew,  by  my  own  experience, 
how  necessary  is  solitude  in  the  moments  when  grief  is  strong- 
est and  thought  most  troubled. 


THE  CAXTONS.  331 


CHAPTER  V. 

Hours  elapsed,  and  the  Captain  had  not  returned  home.  I 
began  to  feel  uneasy,  and  went  forth  in  search  of  him,  though  I 
knew  not  whither  to  direct  my  steps.  I  thought  it  however,  at 
least  probable  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  resist  visiting  Lady 
Ellinor,  so  I  went  first  to  St.  James's  Square.  My  suspicions 
were  correct ;  the  Captain  had  been  there  two  hours  before. 
Lady  Ellinor  herself  had  gone  out  shortly  after  the  Captain 
left.  While  the  porter  was  giving  me  this  information,  a  car- 
riage stopped  at  the  door,  and  a  footman,  stepping  up,  gave 
the  porter  a  note  and  a  small  parcel,  seemingly  of  books,  say- 
ing simply,  "  From  the  Marquis  of  Castleton."  At  the  sound 
of  that  name  I  turned  hastily,  and  recognized  Sir  Sedley 
Beaudesert  seated  in  the  carriage,  and  looking  out  of  the 
window  with  a  dejected,  moody  expression  of  countenance, 
very  different  from  his  ordinary  aspect,  except  when  the  rare 
sight  of  a  gray  hair  or  a  twinge  of  the  toothache  reminded 
him  that  he  was  ho  longer  twenty-five.  Indeed,  the  change 
was  so  great  that  I  exclaimed  dubiously  :  "  Is  that  Sir  Sedley 
Beaudesert?"  The  footman  looked  at  me,  and  touching  his 
hat  said,  with  a  condescending  smile  :  "  Yes,  sir — now  the 
Marquis  of  Castleton." 

Then,  for  the  first  time  since  the  young  lord's  death,  I  re- 
membered Sir  Sedley 's  expressions  of  gratitude  to  Lady  Cas- 
tleton, and  the  waters  of  Ems,  for  having  saved  him  from 
"  that  horrible  marquisate."  Meanwhile  my  old  friend  had 
perceived  me,  exclaiming  : 

"  What  !  Mr.  Caxton  !  I  am  delighted  to  see  you.  Open 
the  door,  Thomas.     Pray  come  in,  come  in," 

I  obeyed  ;  and  the  new  Lord  Castleton  made  room  for  me 
by  his  side. 

**  Are  you  in  a  hurry  ?  "  said  he  ;  "  if  so,  shall  I  take  you 
anywhere  ?  If  not,  give  me  half  an  hour  of  your  time,  while  I 
drive  to  the  City." 

As  I  knew  not  now  in  what  direction,  more  than  another, 
to  prosecute  my  search  for  the  Captain,  and  as  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  call  at  our  lodgings  to  inquire  if  he  had  not  re- 
turned, I  answered  that  I  should  be  very  happy  to  accompany 
his  lordship  ;  "  though  the  City,"  and  I,  smiling,  "  sounds  to 
me  strange  upon  the  lips  of  Sir  Sedley — I  beg  pardon,  I 
should  say  of  Lord — " 

•*  Don't  say  any  such  thing  ;  let  me  once  more  hear  the 


332  THE   CAXTONS. 

grateful  sound  of  Sedley  Beaudesert.  Shut  the  door,  Thomas ; 
to  Gracechurch  Street — Messrs.  Fudge  and  Fidget." 

The  carriage  drove  on. 

"  A  sad  afliiction  has  befallen  me,"  said  the  marquis,  "  and 
none  sympathize  with  nie  !  " 

"  Yet  all,  even  unacquainted  with  the  late  lord,  must  have 
felt  shocked  at  the  death  of  one  so  young,  and  so  full  of 
promise." 

"  So  fitted  in  every  way  to  bear  the  burthen  of  the  great 
Castleton  name  and  property — and  yet  you  see  it  killed  him  ! 
Ah  !  if  he  had  been  but  a  simple  gentleman,  or  if  he  had  had  a 
less  conscientious  desire  to  do  his  duties,  he  would  have  lived 
to  a  good  old  age.  I  know  what  it  is  already.  Oh,  if 
you  saw  the  piles  of  letters  on  my  table  !  I  positively  dread 
the  post.  Such  colossal  improvement  on  the  property  which 
the  poor  boy  had  begun,  for  me  to  finish.  What  do  you 
think  takes  me  to  Fudge  and  Fidget's  ?  Sir,  they  are  the 
agents  for  an  infernal  coal-mine  which  my  cousin  had  re- 
opened in  Durham,  to  plague  my  life  out  with  another 
thirty  thousand  pounds  a  year  !  How  am  I  to  spend  the 
money? — how  am  I  to  spend  it?  There's  a  cold-blooded 
head  steward,  who  says  that  charity  is  the  greatest  crime  a 
man  in  high  station  can  commit ;  it  demoralizes  the  poor. 
Then,  because  some  half  a  dozen  farmers  sent  me  a  round- 
robin,  to  the  effect  that  their  rents  were  too  high,  and  I  wrote 
them  word  that  the  rents  should  be  lowered,  there  was  such  a 
hullabaloo — you  would  have  thought  heaven  and  earth  were 
coming  together.  '  If  a  man  in  the  position  of  the  Marquis  of 
Castleton  set  the  example  of  letting  land  below  its  value,  how 
could  the  poorer  squires  in  the  country  exist  ? — or,  if  they  did 
exist,  what  injustice  to  expose  them  to  the  charge  that  they 
were  grasping  landlords,  vampires,  and  bloodsuckers  !  Clearly 
if  Lord  Castleton  lowered  his  rents  (they  were  too  low  already), 
he  struck  a  mortal  blow  at  the  property  of  his  neighbors,  if 
they  followed  his  example  :  or  at  their  characters,  if  they  did 
not.'  No  man  can  tell  how  hard  it  is  to  do  good,  unless  for- 
tune gives  him  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  a  year,  and  says  ; 
•  Now,  do  good  with  it ! '  Sedley  Beaudesert  might  follow  his 
whims,  and  all  that  would  be  said  against  him  was,  '  good- 
natured,  simple  fellow  !  '  But  if  Lord  Castleton  follow  his 
whims,  you  would  think  he  was  a  second  Catiline — unsettling 
the  peace,  and  undermining  the  prosperity,  of  the  entire 
nation  !  "  Here  the  wretched  man  paused,  and  sighed  heavily  ; 
then,  as  his  thoughts  wandered  into  a  new  channel  of  woe,  he 


tHE  CAXTONS.  J35 

resumed  :  "  Ah  !  if  you  could  but  see  the  forlorn  great  house 
I  am  expected  to  inhabit,  cooped  up  between  dead  walls, 
instead  of  my  pretty  rooms,  with  the  windows  full  on  the  Park  ; 
and  the  balls  I  am  expected  to  give,  and  the  parliamentary 
interest  I  am  to  keep  up  ;  and  the  villanous  proposal  made  to 
me  to  become  a  lord  steward  or  lord  chamberlain,  because  it 
suits  my  rank  to  be  a  sort  of  a  servant.  Oh,  Pisistratus  !  you 
lucky  dog — not  twenty-one,  and  with,  I  dare  say,  not  two 
hundred  pounds  a  year  in  the  world  !  " 

Thus  bemoaning  and  bewailing  his  sad  fortunes,  the  poor 
marquis  ran  on,  till  at  last  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  yet  deeper 
despair  : 

"  And  everybody  says  I  must  marry,  too  ! — that  the  Castleton 
line  must  not  be  extinct !  The  Beaudeserts  are  a  good  old 
family  eno' — as  old,  for  what  I  know,  as  the  Castletons ;  but 
the  British  empire  would  suffer  no  loss  if  they  sunk  into  the 
tomb  of  the  Capulets.  But  that  the  Castleton  peerage  should 
expire,  is  a  thought  of  crime  and  woe,  at  which  all  the  mothers 
of  England  rise  in  a  phalanx  !  And  so,  instead  of  visiting  the 
sins  of  the  fathers  on  the  sons,  it  is  the  father  that  is  to  be 
sacrificed  for  the  benefit  of  the  third  and  fourth  generation  ! " 

Despite  my  causes  for  seriousness,  I  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing ;  my  companion  turned  on  me  a  look  of  reproach. 

"  At  least,"  said  I,  composing  my  countenance,  "  Lord  Cas- 
tleton has  one  comfort  in  his  afflictions — if  he  must  marry,  he 
may  choose  as  he  pleases." 

"  That  is  precisely  what  Sedley  Beaudesert  could,  and  Lord 
Castleton  cannot  do,"  said  the  Marquis  gravely.  "  The  rank 
of  Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert  was  a  quiet  and  comfortable  rank — 
he  might  marry  a  curate's  daughter,  or  a  duke's — and  please 
his  eye  or  grieve  his  heart  as  the  caprice  took  him.  But  Lord 
Castleton  must  marry,  not  for  a  wife,  but  for  a  marchioness — 
marry  some  one  who  will  wear  his  rank  for  him,  take  the 
trouble  of  splendor  off  his  hands,  and  allow  him  to  retire  into 
a  corner,  and  dream  that  he  is  Sedley  Beaudesert  once  more ! 
Yes,  it  must  be  so — the  crowning  sacrifice  must  be  completed 
at  the  altar.  But  a  truce  to  my  complaints.  Trevanion 
informs  me  you  are  going  to  Australia, — can  that  be  true  ? " 

"  Perfectly  true." 

"  They  .say  there  is  a  sad  want  of  ladies  there." 

"  So  much  the  better, — I  shall  be  all  the  more  steady." 

"  Well,  there's  something  in  that.  Have  you  seen  Lady 
Ellinor  ? " 

"  Yes,  this  morning." 


J34  *^^^  caxtons. 

"  Poor  woman  ! — a  great  blow  to  her — we  have  tried  to  con- 
sole each  other.  Fanny,  you  know,  is  staying  at  Oxton,  in 
Surrey,  with  Lady  Castleton — the  poor  lady  is  so  fond  of  her — 
and  no  one  has  comforted  her  like  Fanny." 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  Miss  Trevanion  was  out  of  town." 

"  Only  for  a  few  days,  and  then  she  and  Lady  Ellinor  join 

Trevanion  in  the  north — you  know  he  is  with   Lord  N , 

settling  measures  on  which — but  alas  !  they  consult  me  now 
on  those  matters — force  their  secrets  on  me.  I  have,  Heaven 
knows  how  many  votes !  Poor  me  !  Upon  my  word,  if  Lady 
Ellinor  was  a  widow,  I  should  certainly  make  up  to  her  ;  very 
clever  woman,  nothing  bores  her."  (The  Marquis  yawned — 
Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert  never  yawned.)  "  Trevanion  has  pro- 
vided for  his  Scotch  secretary,  and  is  about  to  get  a  place  in 
the  Foreign  Ofifice  for  that  young  fellow  Gower,  whom,  between 
you  and  me,  I  don't  like.     But  he  has  bewitched  Trevanion  !  " 

"  What  sort  of  a  person  is  this  Mr.  Gower  ?  I  remember 
you  said  that  he  was  clever,  and  good-looking." 

*'  He  is  both,  but  it  is  not  the  cleverness  of  youth  ;  he  is  as 
hard  and  sarcastic  as  if  he  had  been  cheated  fifty  times,  and 
jilted  a  hundred  !  Neither  are  his  good  looks  that  letter  of 
recommendation  which  a  handsome  face  is  said  to  be.  He 
has  an  expression  of  countenance  very  much  like  that  of  Lord 
Hertford's  pet  bloodhound,  when  a  stranger  comes  into  the 
room.  Very  sleek,  handsome  dog,  the  bloodhound  is,  cer- 
tainly— well-mannered,  and  I  dare  say  exceedingly  tame  ;  but 
still  you  have  but  to  look  at  the  corner  of  the  eye,  to  know 
that  it  is  only  the  habit  of  the  drawing-room  that  suppresses 
the  creature's  constitutional  tendency  to  seize  you  by  the 
throat,  instead  of  giving  you  a  paw.  Still  this  Mr.  Gower  has 
a  very  striking  head — something  about  it  Moorish  or  Spanish, 
like  a  picture  by  Murillo  :  I  half  suspect  that  he  is  less  a  Gower 
than  a  gypsy  !  " 

"  What !  "  I  cried,  as  I  listened  with  rapt  and  breathless 
Attention  to  this  description.  "  He  is  then  very  dark,  with 
high,  narrow  forehead,  features  slightly  aquiline,  but  very 
delicate,  and  teeth  so  dazzling  that  the  whole  face  seems  to 
sparkle  when  he  smiles — though  it  is  only  the  lip  that  smiles, 
pot  the  eye." 

"  Exactly  as  you  say  ;  you  have  seen  him,  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  am  not  sure,  since  you  say  his  name  is  Gower." 

"  He  says  his  name  is  Gower,"  returned  Lord  Castieton 
dryly,  as  he  inhaled  the  Beaudesert  mixture. 

''*  And  where  is  he  now  ? — with  Mr.  Trevanion  ?  " 


THE   CAXTONS.  33^ 

"Yes,  I  believe  so.  Ah  !  here  we  are — Fudge  and  Fidget ! 
But,  perhaps,"  added  Lord  Castleton,  with  a  gleam  of  hope  in 
his  blue  eye — "  perhaps  they  are  not  at  home  ! " 

Alas  !  that  was  an  illusive  "  imagining,"  as  the  poets  of  the 
nineteenth  century  unaffectedly  express  themselves.  Messrs. 
Fudge  and  Fidget  were  never  out  to  such  clients  as  the  Mar- 
quis of  Castleton  :  with  a  deep  sigh,  and  an  altered  expression 
of  face,  the  Victim  of  Fortune  slowly  descended  the  steps  of 
the  carriage. 

"  I  can't  ask  you  to  wait  for  me,"  said  he  :  "  Heaven  only 
knows  how  long  I  shall  be  kept !  Take  the  carriage  where  you 
will,  and  send  it  back  to  me." 

**  A  thousand  thanks,  my  dear  lord,  I  would  rather  walk — 
but  you  will  let  me  call  on  you  before  I  leave  town." 

"  Let  you  !  I  insist  on  it.  I  am  still  at  the  old  quarters — ■ 
under  pretence,"  said  the  Marquis,  with  a  sly  twinkle  of  the 
eyelid,  "that  Castleton  House  wants  painting  !  " 

"  At  twelve  to-morrow,  then  ? " 

"  Twelve  to-morrow.  Alas  !  that's  just  the  hour  at  which 
Mr.  Screw,  the  agent  for  the  London  property  (two  squares, 
seven  streets,  and  a  lane !)  is  to  call." 

"  Perhaps  two  o'clock  will  suit  you  better?" 

"Two! — just  the  hour  at  which  Mr.  Plausible,  one  of  the 
Castleton  members,  insists  upon  telling  me  why  his  conscience 
will  not  let  him  vote  with  Trevanion  !  " 

"Three  o'clock  ?" 

"  Three  ! — just  the  hour  at  which  I  am  to  see  the  Secretary 
of  the  Treasury,  who  has  promised  to  relieve  Mr.  Plausible's 
conscience  !  But  come  and  dine  with  me — you  will  meet  the 
executors  to  the  will !  " 

"  Nay,  Sir  Sedley — that  is,  my  dear  lord — I  will  take  my 
chance,  and  look  in  after  dinner." 

"  Do  so ;  my  guests  are  not  lively  !  What  a  firm  step  the 
rogue  has  !  Only  twenty,  I  think — twenty  !  and  not  an  acre 
of  property  to  plague  him  !  "  So  saying,  the  Marquis  dolor- 
ously shook  his  head,  and  vanished  through  the  noiseless 
mahogany  doors,  behind  which  Messrs.  Fudge  and  Fidget 
awaited  the  unhappy  man,  with  the  accounts  of  the  Great 
Castleton  coal-mine. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

On  my  way  towards  our  lodgings,  I  resolved  to  look  in  at  a 
humble  tavern  in  the  coffee-room  of  which  the  Captain  and 


33^  THE   CAXTONS. 

myself  habitually  dined.  Il  was  now  about  the  usual  hour  in 
which  we  took  that  meal,  and  he  might  be  there  waiting  for 
me.  I  had  just  gained  the  steps  of  this  tavern  when  a  stage- 
coach came  rattling  along  the  pavement,  and  drew  up  at  an 
inn  of  more  pretensions  than  that  which  we  favored,  situated 
within  a  few  doors  of  the  latter.  As  the  coach  stopped,  my 
eye  was  caught  by  the  Trevanion  livery,  which  was  very  pecu- 
liar. Thinking  I  must  be  deceived,  I  drew  near  to  the  wearer 
of  the  livery,  who  had  just  descended  from  the  roof,  and  while 
he  paid  the  coachman,  gave  his  orders  to  a  waiter  who  emerged 
from  the  inn — "Half-and-half,  cold  without!"  The  tone  of 
the  voice  struck  me  as  familiar,  and,  the  man  now  looking  up, 
I  beheld  the  features  of  Mr.  Peacock.  Yes,  unquestionably  it 
was  he.  The  whiskers  were  shaved  ;  there  were  traces  of 
powder  in  the  hair  or  the  wig — the  livery  of  the  Trevanions  (ay, 
the  very  livery — crest-button,  and  all)  upon  that  portly  figure, 
which  I  had  last  seen  in  the  more  august  robes  of  a  beadle. 
But  Mr.  Peacock  it  was — Peacock  travestied,  but  Peacock 
still.  Before  I  had  recovered  my  amaze,  a  woman  got  out  of 
a  cabriolet,  that  seemed  to  have  been  in  waiting  for  the  ar- 
rival of  the  coach,  and  hurrying  up  to  Mr.  Peacock,  said  in 
the  loud,  impatient  tone  common  to  the  fairest  of  the  fair  sex, 
when  in  haste :  "  How  late  you  are  ! — I  was  just  going.  I 
must  get  back  to  Oxton  to-night." 

Oxton — Miss  Trevanion  was  staying  at  Oxton  !  I  was  now 
close  behind  the  pair — I  listened  with  my  heart  in  my  ear. 

"  So  you  shall,  my  dear — so  you  shall  ;  just  come  in,  will 
you." 

"  No,  no  ;  I  have  only  ten  minutes  to  catch  the  coach. 
Have  you  any  letter  for  me  from  Mr.  Gower  ?  How  can  I 
be  sure,  if  I  don't  see  it  under  his  own  hand,  that — " 

"  Hush  ! "  said  Peacock,  sinking  his  voice  so  low  that  I 
could  only  catch  the  words,  "no  names — letter,  pooh,  I'll  tell 
you."  He  then  drew  her  apart,  and  whispered  to  her  for  some 
moments.  I  watched  the  woman's  face,  which  was  bent  towards 
her  companion's,  and  it  seemed  to  show  quick  intelligence. 
She  nodded  her  head  more  than  once,  as  if  in  impatient  assent 
to  what  was  said  ;  and,  after  a  shaking  of  hands,  hurried  off 
to  the  cab  ;  then,  as  if  a  thought  struck  her,  she  ran  back,  and 
said  : 

"  But  in  case  my  lady  should  not  go — if  there's  any  change 
of  plan." 

"  There'll  be  no  change,  you  may  be  sure — positively  to- 
morrow— not  too  early  ;  you  understand  ?  " 


THE   CAXTOK'S  337 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  good-by  " — and  the  woman,  who  was  dressed 
with  a  quiet  neatness  that  seemed  to  stamp  her  profession  as 
that  of  an  abigail  (black  cloak,  with  long  cape — of  that  peculiar 
silk  which  seems  spun  on  purpose  for  ladies'-maids — bonnets 
to  match,  with  red  and  black  ribbons),  hastened  once  more 
away,  and  in  another  moment  the  cab  drove  off  furiously. 

What  could  all  this  mean  ?  By  this  time  the  waiter  brought 
Mr.  Peacock  the  half-and-half.  He  despatched  it  ha.stily,  and 
then  strode  on  towards  a  neighboring  stand  of  cabriolets.  I 
followed  him  ;  and  just  as,  after  beckoning  one  of  the  vehicles 
from  the  stand,  he  had  ensconced  himself  therein,  I  sprang  up 
the  steps  and  placed  myself  by  his  side.  "  Now,  Mr.  Pea- 
cock," said  I,  "you  will  tell  me  at  once  how  you  come  to  wear 
that  livery,  or  I  shall  order  the  cabman  to  drive  to  Lady  Elli- 
nor  Trevanion's  and  ask  her  that  question  myself." 

"  And  who  the  devil  ! — Ah,  you're  the  young  gentleman  that 
came  to  me  behind  the  scenes — I  remember." 

"  Where  to,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  cabman. 

"  To — to  London  Bridge,"  said  Mr.  Peacock. 

The  man  mounted  the  box,  and  drove  on. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Peacock,  I  wait  your  answer.  I  guess  by  your 
face  that  you  are  about  to  tell  me  a  lie  ;  I  advise  you  to  speak 
the  truth." 

"  I  don't  know  what  business  you  have  to  question  me," 
said  Mr.  Peacook  sullenly  ;  and  raising  his  glance  from  his  own 
clenched  fists,  he  suffered  it  to  wander  over  my  form  with  so 
vindictive  a  significance  that  I  interrupted  the  survey  by  say- 
ing :  " '  Will  you  encounter  the  house  ? '  as  the  Swan  interrog- 
atively puts  it — shall  I  order  the  cabman  to  drive  to  St.  James's 
Square  ? " 

"  Oh,  you  know  my  weak  point,  sir  ;  any  man  who  can  quote 
Will — sweet  Will — has  me  on  the  hip,"  rejoined  Mr.  Peacock, 
smoothing  his  countenance,  and  spreading  his  palms  on  his 
knees.  "  But  if  a  man  does  fall  in  the  world,  and  after  keep- 
ing servants  of  his  own,  is  obliged  to  be  himself  a  servant, 
*  I  will  not  shame 
To  tell  you  what  I  am.'  " 

" The  Swan  says,  '  To  tell  you  what  I  7vas'  Mr.  Peacock. 
But  enough  of  this  trifling  ;  who  placed  you  with  Mr.  Tre- 
vanion  ?  " 

Mr.  Peacock  looked  down  for  a  moment,  and  then,  fixing  his 
eyes  on  me,  said  :  "  Well,  I'll  tell  you  :  you  asked  me,  when 
we  met  last,  about  a  young  gentleman — Mr. — Mr.  Vivian," 

PisiSTRATUs. — Proceed. 


33^  'IHE    CAXTONS. 

Peacock. — I  know  you  don't  want  to  harm  him.  Besides, 
*'  He  hath  a  prosperous  art,"  and  one  day  or  other — mark  my 
words,  or  rather  my  friend  Will's — 

"  He  will  bestride  this  narrow  world 
Like  a  Colossus." 

Upon  my  life  he  will — like  a  Colossus, 

"  And  we  petty  men — " 
PisisTRATUs  (savagely). — Go  on  with  your  story. 
Peacock  (snappishly). — I  am  going  on  with  it !  You  put 
me  out ;  where  was  I — oh — ah — yes.  I  had  just  been  sold 
up — not  a  penny  in  my  pocket  ;  and  if  you  could  have  seen 
my  coat — yet  that  was  better  than  the  small-clothes  !  Well,  it 
was  in  Oxford  Street — no,  it  was  in  the  Strand,  near  the 
Lowther — 

"  The  sun  was  in  the  heavens  ;  and  the  proud  day 
Attended,  with  the  pleasures  of  the  world." 

PisiSTRATUS  (lowering  the  glass). — To  St.  James's  Square  ? 
Peacock. — No,  no  ;  to  London  Bridge. 

"  How  use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man  !  " 

I  will  go  on — honor  bright.  So  I  met  Mr.  Vivian,  and  as  he 
had  known  me  in  better  days,  and  has  a  good  heart  of  his  own, 
he  says — 

"  Horatio, — or  I  do  forget  myself." 

Pisistratus  puts  his  hand  on  the  check-string. 

Peacock  (correcting  himself). — I  mean — Why,  Johnson, 
my  good  fellow. 

Pisistratus. — Johnson  ! — oh,  that's  your  name — not  Pea- 
cock. 

Peacock. — Johnson  and  Peacock  both  (with  dignity). 
When  you  know  the  world  as  I  do,  sir,  you  will  find  that  it  is 
ill  travelling  this  *'  naughty  world  "  without  a  change  of  names 
in  your  portmanteau. 

"  Johnson,"  says  he,  "  my  good  fellow,"  and  he  pulled  out 
his  purse.  "Sir,"  said  I,  "if,  'exempt  from  public  haunt,'  I 
could  get  something  to  do  when  this  dross  is  gone.  In  London 
there  are  sermons  in  stones,  certainly,  but  not  *  good  in  every- 
thing,'— an  observation  I  should  take  the  liberty  of  making  to 
the  Swan,  if  he  were  not  now,  alas  !  '  the  baseless  fabric  of  a 
vision.' " 

Pisistratus. — Take  care  ! 

Peacock  (hurriedly). — Then  says  Mr.  Vivian  :  "  If  you  don't 
mind  wearing  a  livery,  till  I  can  provide  for  you  more  suitably, 
my  old  friend,  there's  a  vacancy  in  the  establishment  of  Mr. 


THE   CAXTONS.  530 

Trevanion."  Sir,  I  accepted  the  proposal,  and  that's  why  I 
wear  this  livery. 

PisiSTRATUS. — And  pray,  what  business  had  you  with  that 
young  woman,  whom  I  take  to  be  Miss  Trevanion's  maid  ? 
And  why  should  she  come  from  Oxton  to  see  you  ? 

I  had  expected  that  these  questions  would  confound  Mr, 
Peacock  ;  but  if  there  really  were  anything  in  them  to  cause 
embarrassment,  the  ci-devant  actor  was  too  practised  in  his 
profession  to  exhibit  it.  He  merely  smiled,  and,  smoothing 
jauntily  a  very  tumbled  shirt-front,  he  said  :  "  Oh,  sir,  fie  ! 

'  Of  this  matter, 
Is  little  Cupid's  crafty  arrow  made.' 

If  you  must  know  my  love  affairs,  that  young  woman  is,  as  the 
vulgar  say,  my  sweetheart." 

'•  Your  sweetheart  !  "  I  exclaimed,  greatly  relieved,  and 
acknowledging  at  once  the  probability  of  the  statement. 
"  Yet,"  I  added  suspiciously — "  yet,  if  so,  why  should  she 
expect  Mr.  Gower  to  write  to  her  ?  " 

"  You're  quick  of  hearing,  sir  ;  but  though 

'All  adoration,  duty,  and  observance  : 
All  humbleness,  and  patience,  and  impatience,' 

the  young  woman  won't  marry  a  livery  servant — proud 
creature ! — very  proud  ! — and  Mr.  Gower,  you  see,  knowing 
how  it  was,  felt  for  me,  and  told  her,  if  I  may  take  such  liberty 
with  the  Swan,  that  she  should 

*  Never  lie  by  Johnson's  side 
With  an  unquiet  soul,' 

/or  that  he  would  get  me  a  place  in  the  Stamps.  The  silly  girt 
said  she  would  have  it  in  black  and  white — as  if  Mr.  Gower 
would  write  to  her  ! 

"  And  now,  sir,"  continued  Mr.  Peacock,  with  a  simple! 
gravity,  "  you  are  at  liberty,  of  course,  to  say  what  you  please 
to  my  lady,  but  I  hope  you'll  not  try  to  take  the  bread  out  of 
my  mouth  because  I  wear  a  livery,  and  am  fool  enough  to  be 
in  love  with  a  waiting-woman — I,  sir,  who  could  have  married 
ladies  who  have  played  the  first  parts  in  life — on  the  metro- 
politan stage." 

I  had  nothing  to  say  to  these  representations — they  seemed 
plausible  ;  and  though,  at  first,  I  had  suspected  that  the  man 
had  only  resorted  to  the  buffoonery  of  his  quotations  in  order 
to  gain  time  for  invention,  or  to  divert  my  notice  from  any 
flaw  in  his  narrative,  yet  at  the  close,  as  the  narrative  seemed 
probable,  so    I    was   willing   to   believe   the   buffoonery  was 


54d  THE   CAXTONS. 

merely  characteristic.  I  contented  myself,  therefore,  with 
asking  : 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  now  ?  " 

•'  From  Mr.  Trevanion,  in  the  country,  with  letters  to  Lady 
Ellinor." 

"Oh  !  and  so  the  young  woman  knew  you  were  coming  to 
town  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  Mr.  Trevanion  told  me,  some  days  ago,  the  day 
1  should  have  to  start." 

"  And  what  do  you  and  the  young  woman  propose  doing 
tomorrow,  if  there  is  no  change  of  plan  ?  " 

Here  I  certainly  thought  there  was  a  slight,  scarce  percept- 
ible, alteration  in  Mr.  Peacock's  countenence,  but  he  answered 
readily:  "Tomorrow,  a  little  assignation,  if  we  can  both 
get  out — 

'  Woo  me,  now  I  am  in  a  holiday  humor, 
And  like  enough  to  consent.' 

Swan  again,  sir." 

"  Humph  ! — so  then,  Mr.  Gower  and  Mr.  Vivian  are  the  same 
person  ? " 

Peacock  hesitated.  "  That's  not  my  secret,  sir  ;  *  I  am 
combined  by  a  sacred  vow.'  You  are  too  much  the  gentleman 
to  peep  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark,  and  to  ask  me,  who 
wear  the  whip,  and  stripes — I  mean  the  plush  small-clothes 
and  shoulderknots — the  secrets  of  another  gent,  to  whom  '  my 
services  are  bound.'  " 

How  a  man  past  thirty  foils  a  man  scarcely  twenty  !  What 
superiority  the  mere  fact  of  living-on  gives  to  the  dullest  dog  ! 
I  bit  my  lip  and  was  silent. 

"  And,"  pursued  Mr.  Peacock,  "  if  you  knew  how  the  Mr. 
Vivian  you  inquired  after  loves  you  !  When  I  told  him  inci- 
dentally, how  a  young  gentleman  had  come  behind  the  scenes 
to  inquire  after  him,  he  made  me  describe  you,  and  then  said, 
quite  mournfully  :  '  If  ever  I  am  what  I  hope  to  become,  how 
happy  I  shall  be  to  shake  that  kind  hand  once  more,' — very 
words,  sir  ! — honor  bright ! 

'  I  think  there's  ne'er  a  man  in  Christendom 
Can  lesser  hide  his  hate  or  love  than  he.' 

And  if  Mr.  Vivian  has  some  reason  to  keep  himself  concealed 
still — if  his  fortune  or  ruin  depend  on  your  not  divulging  his 
secret  for  a  while — I  can't  think  you  are  the  man  he  need  fear. 
*Pon  my  life, 

'  I  wish  I  was  as  sure  of  a  good  dinner,' 

as  the  Swan  touchingly  exclaims.     I  dare  swear  that  was  a 


THE    CAXTONS.  341 

wish  often  on  the  Swan's  h*ps  in  the  privacy  of  his  domestic 
life  I  " 

My  heart  was  softened,  not  by  the  pathos  of  the  much  pro- 
faned and  desecrated  Swan,  but  by  Mr.  Peacock's  unadorned 
repetition  of  Vivian's  words  ;  I  turned  my  face  from  the  sharp 
eyes  of  my  companion — the  cab  now  stopped  at  the  foot  of 
London  Bridge. 

I  had  no  more  to  ask,  yet  still  there  was  some  uneasy  curi- 
osity in  my  mind,  which  I  could  hardly  define  to  myself, — was 
it  not  jealousy?  Vivian  so  handsome  and  so  daring — //<f  at 
least  might  see  the  great  heiress  ;  Lady  EUinor  perhaps 
thought  of  no  danger  there.  But — I — I  was  a  lover  still, 
and — nay,  such  thoughts  were  folly  indeed  ! 

"  My  man,"  said  I  to  the  ex-comedian,  "  I  neither  wish  to 
harm  Mr.  Vivian  (if  I  am  so  to  call  him),  nor  you  who  imitate 
him  in  the  variety  of  your  names.  But  I  tell  you  fairly,  that  I 
do  not  like  your  being  in  Mr.  Trevanion's  employment,  and  I 
advise  you  to  get  out  of  it  as  soon  as  possible.  I  say  nothing 
more  as  yet,  for  I  shall  take  time  to  consider  well  what  you 
have  told  me." 

With  that  I  hastened  away,  and  Mr.  Peacock  continued  his 
solitary  journey  over  London  Bridge. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

Amidst  all  that  lacerated  my  heart,  or  tormented  my 
thoughts,  that  eventful  day,  I  felt  at  least  one  joyous  emotion, 
when,  on  entering  our  little  drawing-room,  I  found  my  uncle 
seated  there. 

The  Captain  had  placed  before  him  on  the  table  a  large 
Bible,  borrowed  from  the  landlady.  He  never  travelled,  to  be 
sure,  without  his  own  Bible,  but  the  print  of  that  was  small, 
and  the  Captain's  eyes  began  to  fail  him  at  night.  So  this 
was  a  Bible  with  large  type  ;  and  a  candle  was  placed  on  either 
side  of  it ;  and  the  Captain  leant  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and 
both  his  hands  were  tightly  clasped  upon  his  forehead — tightly, 
as  if  to  shut  out  the  tempter,  and  force  his  whole  soul  upon 
the  page. 

He  sat  the  image  of  iron  courage  ;  in  every  line  of  that 
rigid  form  there  was  resolution.  "  I  will  not  listen  to  my 
heart ;  I  will  read  the  Book,  and  learn  to  suffer  as  becomes  a 
Christian  man." 

There  was  such  a  pathos  in  the  stern  sufferer's  attitude, 


342  THE   CAXTONS. 

that  it  spoke  those  words  as  plainly  as  if  his  lips  had  said 
them. 

Old  soldier !  thou  hast  done  a  soldier's  part  in  many  a 
bloody  field  ;  but  if  I  could  make  visible  to  the  world  thy  brave 
soldier's  soul,  I  would  paint  thee  as  I  saw  thee  then  ! — Out  on 
this  tyro's  hand  ! 

At  the  movement  I  made,  the  Captain  looked  up,  and  the 
strife  he  had  gone  through  was  written  upon  his  face. 

"  It  has  done  me  good/'  said  he  simply,  and  he  closed  the 
book. 

I  drew  my  chair  near  to  him,  and  hung  my  arm  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  No  cheering  news,  then  ?  "  asked  I  in  a  whisper. 

Roland  shook  his  head,  and  gently  laid  his  finger  on  his  lips. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

It  was  impossible  for  me  to  intrude  upon  Roland's  thoughts, 
whatever  their  nature,  with  a  detail  of  those  circumstances 
which  had  roused  in  me  a  keen  and  anxious  interest  in  things 
apart  from  his  sorrow. 

Yet  as  "  restless  I  roll'd  around  my  weary  bed,"  and  revolved 
the  renewal  of  Vivian's  connection  with  a  man  of  character  so 
equivocal  as  Peacock,  the  establishment  of  an  able  and  un- 
scrupulous tool  of  his  own  in  the  service  of  Trevanion,  the 
care  with  which  he  had  concealed  from  me  his  change  of  name, 
and  his  intimacy  at  the  very  house  to  which  I  had  frankly 
offered  to  present  him  ;  the  familiarity  which  his  creature  had 
contrived  to  effect  with  Miss  Trevanion's  maid,  the  words  that 
had  passed  between  them — plausibly  accounted  for,  it  is  true, 
yet  still  suspicious — and,  above  all,  my  painful  recollections  of 
Vivian's  reckless  ambition  and  unprincipled  sentiments — nay, 
the  effect  that  a  few  random  words  upon  Fanny's  fortune,  and 
the  luck  of  winning  an  heiress,  had  sufficed  to  produce  upon 
his  heated  fancy  and  audacious  temper :  when  all  these 
thoughts  came  upon  me,  strong  and  vivid,  in  the  darkness  of 
night,  I  longed  for  some  confidant,  more  experienced  in  the 
world  than  myself,  to  advise  me  as  to  the  course  I  ought  to 
pursue.  Should  I  warn  Lady  Ellinor?  But  of  what  ?  The 
character  of  a  servant,  or  the  designs  of  the  fictitious  Gower  ? 
Against  the  first  I  could  say,  if  nothing  very  positive,  still 
enough  to  make  it  prudent  to  dismiss  him.  But  of  Gower  or 
Vivian,  what  could  I  say  without — not  indeed  betraying  his 
confidence,  for  that  he  had  never  given  me,  but  without  bely* 


THE   CAXTONS.  345 

ing  the  professions  of  friendship  that  I  myself  had  lavishly 
made  to  him  ?  Perhaps,  after  all,  he  might  have  disclosed 
whatever  were  his  real  secrets  to  Trevanion  ;  and  if  not  I 
might  indeed  ruin  his  prospects  by  revealing  the  aliases  he 
assumed.  But  wherefore  reveal,  and  wherefore  warn  ?  Be- 
cause of  suspicions  that  I  could  not  myself  analyze — suspicions 
founded  on  circumstances  most  of  which  had  already  been 
seemingly  explained  away.  Still,  when  morning  came,  I  was 
irresolute  what  to  do  ;  and  after  watching  Roland's  counte- 
nance, and  seeing  on  his  brow  so  great  a  weight  of  care,  that 
I  had  no  option  but  to  postpone  the  confidence  I  pined  to 
place  in  his  strong  understanding  and  unerring  sense  of  honor, 
1  wandered  out,  hoping  that  in  the  fresh  air  I  might  recollect 
my  thoughts,  and  solve  the  problem  that  perplexed  me.  I  had 
enough  to  do  in  sundry  small  orders  for  my  voyage,  and  com- 
missions for  Bolding,  to  occupy  me  some  hours.  And,  this 
business  done,  I  found  myself  moving  westward  :  mechanically 
as  it  were,  I  had  come  to  a  kind  of  half-and-half  resolution  to 
call  upon  Lady  Ehinor,  and  question  her,  carelessly  and  inci- 
dentally, both  about  Gower  and  the  new  servant  admitted  to 
the  household. 

Thus  I  found  myself  in  Regent  Street,  when  a  carriage, 
borne  by  post-horses,  whirled  rapidly  over  the  pavement — 
scattering  to  the  right  and  left  all  humbler  equipages — and 
hurried,  as  if  on  an  errand  of  life  and  death,  up  the  broad 
thoroughfare  leading  into  Portland  Place.  But,  rapidly  as 
the  wheels  dashed  by,  I  had  seen  distinctly  the  face  of  Fanny 
Trevanion  in  the  carriage,  and  that  face  wore  a  strange  expres- 
sion, which  seemed  to  me  to  speak  of  anxiety  and  grief;  and, 
by  her  side — was  not  that  the  woman  I  had  seen  with  Peacock  ? 
I  did  not  see  the  face  of  the  woman,  but  I  thought  I  recognized 
the  cloak,  the  bonnet,  and  peculiar  turn  of  the  head.  If  I 
could  be  mistaken  there,  I  was  not  mistaken,  at  least,  as  to  the 
servant  on  the  seat  behind.  Looking  back  at  a  butcher's  boy 
who  had  just  escaped  being  run  over,  and  was  revenging  him- 
self by  all  the  imprecations  the  Dirse  of  London  slang  could 
suggest,  the  face  of  Mr.  Peacock  was  exposed  in  full  to  my 
gaze. 

My  first  impulse,  on  recovering  my  surprise,  was  to  spring 
after  the  carriage;  in  the  haste  of  that  impulse,  I  cried  "  Stop! " 
But  the  carriage  was  out  of  sight  in  a  moment,  and  my  word 
was  lost  in  air.  Full  of  presentiments  of  some  evil — I  knew 
not  what — I  then  altered  my  course,  and  stopped  not,  till  I 
found  myself,  panting  and  out  of  breath,  in  St.  James's  Square, 


344  THE    CAXTONS. 

at  the  door  of  Trevanion's  house — in  the  hall.  The  porter  had 
a  newspaper  in  his  hand  as  he  admitted  me. 

"Where  is  Lady  Ellinor?     1  must  see  her  instantly," 

"  No  worse  news  of  master,  I  hope,  sir?" 

'•  Worse  news  of  what  ?     Of  whom  ?     Of  Mr.  Trevanion  ?" 

"  Did  you  not  know  he  was  suddenly  taken  ill,  sir  ;  that  a 
servant  came  express  to  say  so  last  night  ?  Lady  Ellinor  went 
off  at  ten  o'clock  to  join  him." 

"  At  ten  o'clock  last  night  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  the  servant's  account  alarmed  her  ladyship  so 
much." 

"  The  new  servant,  who  had  been  recommended  by  Mr. 
Gower  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir — Henry,"  answered  the  porter,  staring  at  me. 
"  Please,  sir,  here  is  an  account  of  master's  attack  in  the  paper. 
I  suppose  Henry  took  it  to  the  ofifice  before  he  came  here, 
which  was  very  wrong  in  him  ;  but  I  am  afraid  he's  a  very 
foolish  fellow." 

"  Never  mind  that.  Miss  Trevanion — I  saw  her  just  now — 
she  did  not  go  with  her  mother  :  where  was  she  going,  then  ? " 

"  Why,  sir — but  pray  step  into  the  parlor." 

"  No,  no — speak  !  " 

"  Why,  sir,  before  Lady  Ellinor  set  out,  she  was  afraid  that 
there  might  be  something  in  the  papers  to  alarm  Miss  Fanny, 
and  so  she  sent  Henry  down  to  Lady  Castleton's  to  beg  her 
ladyship  to  make  as  light  of  it  as  she  could  ;  but  it  seems  that 
Henry  blabbed  the  worst  to  Mrs.  Mole." 

"  Who  is  Mrs.  Mole  ? " 

"  Miss  Trevanion's  maid,  sir — a  new  maid  ;  and  Mrs.  Mole 
blabbed  to  my  young  lady,  and  so  she  took  fright,  and  insisted 
on  coming  to  town.  And  Lady  Castleton,  who  is  ill  herself 
in  bed,  could  not  keep  her,  I  suppose, — especially  as  Henry 
said,  though  he  ought  to  have  known  better,  '  that  she  would 
be  in  time  to  arrive  before  my  lady  set  off.'  Poor  Miss  Tre- 
vanion was  so  disappointed  when  she  found  her  mamma  gone. 
And  then  she  would  order  fresh  horses,  and  would  go  on, 
though  Mrs.  Bates  (the  housekeeper,  you  know,  sir)  was  very 
angry  with  Mrs.  Mole,  who  encouraged  Miss  ;  and — " 

"  Good  Heavens  !     Why  did  not   Mrs.  Bates  go  with  her  ? " 

"  Why,  sir,  you  know  how  old  Mrs.  Bates  is,  and  my  young 
lady  is  always  so  kind  that  she  would  not  hear  of  it,  as  she  is 
going  to  travel  night  and  day  ;  and  Mrs.  Mole  said  she  had 
gone  all  over  the  world  with  her  last  lady,  and  that — " 

"  I  see  it  all.     Where  is  Mr.  Gower  ? " 


THE    CAXTONS.  345 

"  Mr.  Gower,  sir  !  " 

"  Yes  !     Can't  you  answer  ? " 

"  Why,  with  Mr.  Trevanion,  I  believe,  sir." 

'.*  In  the  north — what  is  the  address  ? " 

"  Lord  N ,  C Hall,  near  W -." 

I  heard  no  more. 

The  conviction  of  some  villanous  snare  struck  me  as  with 
the  swiftness  and  force  of  lightning.  Why,  if  Trevanion  were 
really  ill,  had  the  false  servant  concealed  it  from  me  ?  Why 
suffered  me  to  waste  his  lime,  instead  of  hastening  to  Lady 
Ellinor  ?  How,  if  Mr.  Trevanion's  sudden  illness  had  brought 
the  man  to  London — how  had  he  known  so  long  beforehand 
(as  he  himself  told  me,  and  his  appointment  with  the  wait- 
ing-woman proved)  the  day  he  should  arrive  ?  Why  now, 
if  there  was  no  design  of  which  Miss  Trevanion  was  the 
object — why  so  frustrate  the  provident  foresight  of  her  mother, 
and  take  advantage  of  the  natural  yearning  of  affection,  the 
quick  impulse  of  youth,  to  hurry  off  a  girl  whose  very  station 
forbade  her  to  take  such  a  journey  without  suitable  protec- 
tion— against  what  must  be  the  wish,  and  what  clearly  were 
the  instructions,  of  Lady  Ellinor  ?  Alone,  worse  than  alone  ! 
Fanny  Trevanion  was  then  in  the  hands  of  two  servants,  who 
were  the  instruments  and  confidants  of  an  adventurer  like 
Vivian  ;  and  that  conference  between  those  servants — those 
broken  references  to  the  morrow,  coupled  with  the  name 
Vivian  had  assumed  :  needed  the  unerring  instincts  of  love 
more  cause  for  terror  ? — terror  the  darker,  because  the  exact 
shape  it  should  assume  was  obscure  and  indistinct. 

I  sprang  from  the  house. 

I  hastened  into  the  Haymarket,  summoned  a  cabriolet, 
drove  home  as  fast  as  I  could  (for  I  had  no  money  about  me 
for  the  journey  I  meditated)  ;  sent  the  servant  of  the  lodging 
to  engage  a  chaise-and-four,  rushed  into  the  room  where 
Roland  fortunately  still  was,  and  exclaimed  :  **  Uncle,  come 
with  me  ! — take  money,  plenty  of  money  ! — some  villany  I 
know,  though  I  can't  explain  it,  has  been  practised  on  the 
Trevanions.  We  may  defeat  it  yet.  I  will  tell  you  all  by  the 
way — come,  come  !  " 

"  Certainly.  But  villany  ! — and  to  people  of  such  a  station — 
pooh  ! — collect  yourself.     Who  is  the  villain  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  the  man  I  had  loved  as  a  friend — the  man  whom  I 
myself  helped  to  make  known  to  Trevanion — Vivian — Vivian  !  " 

"  Vivian  ! — ah,  the  youth  I  have  heard  you  speak  of.  But 
how  ?     Villany  to  whom — to  Trevanion  ?  " 


34<5  THE  CAXTONS. 

"You  torture  me  with  your  questions.  Listen — this  Vivian 
(I  know  him) — he  has  introduced  into  the  house,  as  a  servant, 
an  agent  capable  of  any  trick  and  fraud  ;  that  servant  has  aided 
him  to  win  over  her  maid — Fanny's — Miss  Trevanion's.  Miss 
Trevanion  is  an  heiress,  Vivian  an  adventurer.  My  head 
swims  round,  I  cannot  explain  now.  Ha  !  I  will  write  a  line 
to  Lord  Castleton — tel)  him  my  fears  and  suspicions — he  will 
follow  us,  I  know,  or  do  what  is  best." 

I  drew  ink  and  paper  towards  me,  and  wrote  hastily.  My 
uncle  came  round  and  looked  over  my  shoulder. 

Suddenly  he  exclaimed,  seizing  my  arm  :  "  Gower,  Gower  ! 
What  name  is  this  ?     You  said  '  Vivian.'  " 

"  Vivian  or  Gower — the  same  person." 

My  uncle  hurried  out  of  the  room.  It  was  natural  that  he 
should  leave  me  to  make  our  joint  and  brief  preparations  for 
departure. 

I  finished  my  ietter,  sealed  it,  and  when,  five  minutes  after- 
wards, the  chaise  came  to  the  door,  I  gave  it  to  the  ostler  who 
accompanied  the  horses,  with  injunctions  to  deliver  it  forth- 
with to  Lord  Castleton  himself. 

My  uncle  now  descended,  and  stepped  from  the  threshold 
with  a  firm  stride.  "  Comfort  yourself,"  he  said,  as  he  entered 
the  chaise,  into  which  I  had  already  thrown  myself.  "  We 
may  be  mistaken  yet." 

"  Mistaken  !  You  do  not  know  this  young  man.  He  has 
every  quality  that  could  entangle  a  girl  like  Fanny,  and  not,  I 
fear,  one  sentiment  of  honor,  that  would  stand  in  the  way  of 
his  ambition.  I  judge  him  now  as  by  a  revelation — too  late — 
oh  Heavens,  if  it  be  too  late  !  " 

A  groan  broke  from  Roland's  lips.  I  heard  in  it  a  proof  of 
his  sympathy  with  my  emotion,  and  grasped  his  hand  ;  it  was 
as  cold  as  the  hand  of  the  dead. 


PART    FIFTEENTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

There  would  have  been  nothing  in  what  had  chanced  to 
justify  the  suspicions  that  tortured  me,  but  for  my  impressions 
as  to  the  character  of  Vivian. 

Reader,  hast  thou  not,  in  the  easy,  careless  sociability  of 


THE   CAXTONS.  347 

youth,  formed  acquaintance  with  some  one,  in  whose  more 
engaging  or  brilliant  qualities  thou  hast — not  lost  that  dislike 
to  defects  or  vices  which  is  natural  to  an  age  when,  even  while 
we  err,  we  adore  what  is  good,  and  glow  with  enthusiasm  for 
the  ennobling  sentiment  and  the  virtuous  deed — no,  happily, 
not  lost  dislike  to  what  is  bad,  nor  thy  quick  sense  of  it — but 
conceived  a  keen  interest  in  the  struggle  between  the  bad  that 
revolted,  and  the  good  that  attracted  thee,  in  thy  companion? 
Then,  perhaps,  thou  hast  lost  sight  of  him  for  a  time ;  sud- 
denly thou  hearest  that  he  has  done  something  out  of  the  way 
of  ordinary  good  or  commonplace  evil ;  and,  in  either — the 
good  or  the  evil — thy  mind  runs  rapidly  back  over  its  old 
reminiscences,  and  of  either  thou  sayest :  **  How  natural  ! — 
only  So-and-so  could  have  done  this  thing !  " 

Thus  I  felt  respecting  Vivian.  The  most  remarkable  quali- 
ties in  his  character  were  his  keen  power  of  calculation,  and 
his  unhesitating  audacity — qualities  that  lead  to  fame  or  to 
infamy,  according  to  the  cultivation  of  the  moral  sense  and  the 
direction  of  the  passions.  Had  I  recognized  those  qualities 
in  some  agency  apparently  of  good — and  it  seemed  yet  doubt- 
ful if  Vivian  were  the  agent — I  should  have  cried  :  "  It  is  he  ! 
and  the  better  angel  has  triumphed  !"  With  the  same  (alas! 
with  a  yet  more  impulsive)  quickness,  when  the  agency  was  of 
evil,  and  the  agent  equally  dubious,  I  felt  that  the  qualities 
revealed  the  man,  and  that  the  demon  had  prevailed. 

Mile  after  mile,  stage  after  stage,  were  passed,  on  the  dreary, 
interminable,  high  north  road.  I  narrated  to  my  companion, 
more  intelligibly  than  I  had  yet  done,  my  causes  for  apprehen- 
sion. The  Captain  at  first  listened  eagerly,  then  checked  me 
on  the  sudden.  "  There  may  be  nothing  in  all  this  !  "  he 
cried.  "  Sir,  we  must  be  men  here — have  our  heads  cool,  our 
reason  clear ;  stop  !  "  And,  leaning  back  in  the  chaise,  Roland 
refused  farther  conversation,  and,  as  the  night  advanced, 
seemed  to  sleep.  I  took  pity  on  his  fatigue,  and  devoured  my 
heart  in  silence.  At  each  stage  we  heard  of  the  party  of  which 
we  were  in  pursuit.  At  the  first  stage  or  two  we  w^ere  less 
than  an  hour  behind  ;  gradually,  as  we  advanced,  we  lost 
ground,  despite  the  most  lavish  liberality  to  the  post-boys.  I 
supposed,  at  length,  that  the  mere  circumstance  of  changing, 
at  each  relay,  the  chaise  as  well  as  the  horses,  was  the  cause 
of  our  comparative  slowness  ;  and,  on  saying  this  to  Roland, 
as  we  were  changing  horses,  somewhere  about  midnight,  he  at 
once  called  up  the  master  of  the  inn,  and  gave  him  his  own 
price  for  permission  to  retain  the  chaise  till  the  journey's  end. 


348  THE   CAXTONS. 

This  was  so  unlike  Roland's  ordinary  thrift,  whether  dealing 
with  my  money  or  his  own — so  unjustified  by  the  fortune  of 
either — that  I  could  not  help  muttering  something  in  apology. 

"  Can  you  guess  why  I  was  a  miser  ?  "  said  Roland  calmly. 

"  A  miser ! — anything  but  that !  Only  prudent — military 
men  often  are  so." 

"  I  was  a  miser,"  repeated  the  Captain,  with  emphasis.  **  I 
began  the  habit  first  when  my  son  was  but  a  child.  I  thought 
him  high-spirited,  and  with  a  taste  for  extravagance.  *  Well,' 
said  I  to  myself,  '  I  will  save  for  him  ;  boys  will  be  boys.' 
Then,  afterwards,  when  he  was  no  more  a  child  (at  least  he 
began  to  have  the  vices  of  a  man  !),  I  said  to  myself : 
*  Patience,  he  may  reform  still  ;  if  not,  I  will  save  money,  that 
1  may  have  power  over  his  self-interest,  since  I  have  none 
over  his  heart.  I  will  bribe  him  into  honor ! '  And  then — 
and  then — God  saw  that  I  was  very  proud,  and  I  was  pun- 
ished. Tell  them  to  drive  faster — faster — why,  this  is  a  snail's 
pace  !  " 

All  that  night,  all  the  next  day,  till  towards  the  evening,  we 
pursued  our  journey  without  pause,  or  other  food  than  a  crust 
of  bread  and  a  glass  of  wine.  But  we  now  picked  up  the 
ground  we  had  lost,  and  gained  upon  the  carriage.  The  night 
had  closed  in  when  we  arrived  at  the  stage  at  which  the  route 

to  Lord  N 's  branched  from  the  direct  north  road.     And 

here,  making  our  usual  inquiry,  my  worst  suspicions  were  con- 
firmed. The  carriage  we  pursued  had  changed  horses  an  hour 
before,  but  had  not  taken  the  way  to  Lord  N 's  ;  continu- 
ing the  direct  road  into  Scotland.  The  people  of  the  inn  had 
not  seen  the  lady  in  the  carriage,  for  it  was  already  dark,  but 
the  man-servant  (whose  livery  they  described)  had  ordered  the 
horses. 

The  last  hope  that,  in  spite  of  appearances,  no  treachery 
had  been  designed,  here  vanished.  The  Captain,  at  first, 
seemed  more  dismayed  than  myself,  but  he  recovered  more 
quickly.  "  We  will  continue  the  journey  on  horseback,"  he 
said  ;  and  hurried  to  the  stables.  All  objections  vanished  at 
the  sight  of  his  gold.  In  five  minutes  we  were  in  the  saddle, 
with  a  postilion,  also  mounted,  to  accompany  us.  We  did  the 
next  stage  in  little  more  than  two-thirds  of  the  time  which  we 
should  have  occupied  in  our  former  mode  of  travel — indeed,  I 
found  it  hard  to  keep  pace  with  Roland.  We  remounted  ;  we 
were  only  twenty-five  minutes  behind  the  carriage.  We  felt 
confident  that  we  should  overtake  it  before  it  could  reach  the 
next  town — the  moon  was  up — we  could  see  far  before  us— 


THE   CAXTONS.  349 

we  rode  at  full  speed.  Milestone  after  milestone  glided  by  ;. 
the  carriage  was  not  visible.  We  arrived  at  the  post-town,  or 
rather  village  ;  it  contained  but  one  posting-house.  We  were 
long  in  knocking  up  the  ostlers — no  carriage  had  arrived  just 
before  us  ;  no  carriage  had  passed  the  place  since  noon. 

What  mystery  was  this  ? 

"  Back,  back,  boy  !  "  said  Roland,  with  a  soldier's  quick  wit, 
and  spurring  his  jaded  horse  from  the  yard,  "  They  will  have 
taken  a  cross-road  or  by-lane.  We  shall  track  them  by  the 
hoofs  of  the  horses,  or  the  print  of  the  wheels." 

Our  postilion  grumbled,  and  pointed  to  the  panting  sides  of 
our  horses.  For  answer,  Roland  opened  his  hand — full  of 
gold.  Away  we  went  back  through  the  dull,  sleeping  village, 
back  into  the  broad,  moonlit  thoroughfare.  We  came  to  a 
cross-road  to  the  right,  but  the  track  we  pursued  still  led  us 
straight  on.  We  had  measured  back  nearly  half  the  way  to 
the  post-town  at  which  we  had  last  changed,  when  lo  !  there 
emerged  from  a  by-lane  two  postilions  and  their  horses  ! 

At  that  sight,  our  companion,  shouting  loud,  pushed  on 
before  us  and  hailed  his  fellows.  A  few  words  gave  us  the 
information  we  sought.  A  wheel  had  come  off  the  carriage 
just  by  the  turn  of  the  road,  and  the  young  lady  and  her  ser- 
vants had  taken  refuge  in  a  small  inn  not  many  yards  down 
the  lane.  The  man-servant  had  dismissed  the  postboys  after 
they  had  baited  their  horses,  saying  they  were  to  come  again  in 
the  morning,  and  bring  a  blacksmith  to  repair  the  wheel. 

*'  How  came  the  wheel  off .-'  "  asked  Roland  sternly. 

*'  Why,  sir,  the  linch-pin  was  all  rotted  away,  I  suppose,  and 
came  out." 

"  Did  the  servant  get  off  the  dickey  after  you  set  out,  and 
before  the  accident  happened  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes.  He  said  the  wheels  were  catching  fire,  that 
they  had  not  the  patent  axles,  and  he  had  forgot  to  have  them 
oiled." 

*'  And  he  looked  at  the  wheels,  and  shortly  afterwards  the 
linch-pin  came  out  ?     Eh  ?  " 

"  Anan,  sir  !  "  said  the  postboy,  staring  ;  "  why,  and  indeed 
so  it  was  !  " 

"  Come  on,  Pisistratus,  we  are  in  time  ;  but  pray  God — pray 
God — that  " — the  Captain  dashed  his  spur  into  the  horse's 
sides,  and  the  rest  of  his  words  was  lost  to  me. 

A  few  yards  back  from  the  causeway,  a  broad  patch  of  green 
before  it,  stood  the  inn — a  sullen,  old-fashioned  building  of 
cold  gray  stone,  looking  livid  in  the  moonlight,  with  black 


350  THE    CAXTONS. 

firs  at  one  side,  throwing  over  half  of  it  a  dismal  shadow.  So 
solitary  !  not  a  house,  not  a  hut  near  it.  If  they  who  kept  the 
inn  were  such  that  villany  might  reckon  on  their  connivance, 
and  innocence  despair  of  their  aid — there  was  no  neighbor- 
hood to  alarm,  no  refuge  at  hand.     The  spot  was  well  chosen. 

The  doors  of  the  inn  were  closed  ;  there  was  a  light  in  the 
room  below  ;  but  the  outside  shutters  were  drawn  over  the 
windows  on  the  first  floor.  My  uncle  paused  a  moment,  and 
said  to  the  postilion  : 

'*  Do  you  know  the  back  way  to  the  premises  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  :  I  doesn't  often  come  by  this  way,  and  they  be 
new  folks  that  have  taken  the  house — and  I  hear  it  don't, 
prosper  over  much." 

"  Knock  at  the  door  ;  we  will  stand  a  little  aside  while  you 
do  so.  If  any  one  ask  what  you  want,  merely  say  you  would 
speak  to  the  servant — that  you  have  found  a  purse — here,  hold 
up  mine." 

Roland  and  I  had  dismounted,  and  my  uncle  drew  me  close 
to  the  wall  by  the  door.  Observing  that  my  impatience  ill 
submitted  to  what  seemed  to  me  idle  preliminaries — 

"  Hist ! "  whispered  he  ;  "  if  there  be  anything  to  conceal 
within,  they  will  not  answer  the  door  till  some  one  has  recon- 
noitred ;  were  they  to  see  us,  they  would  refuse  to  open.  But 
seeing  only  the  postboy,  whom  they  will  suppose  at  first  to  be 
one  of  those  who  brought  the  carriage,  they  will  have  no  sus- 
picion.    Be  ready  to  rush  in  the  moment  the  door  is  unbarred." 

My  uncle's  veteran  experience  did  not  deceive  him.  There 
was  a  long  silence  before  any  reply  was  made  to  the  postboy's 
summons  ;  the  light  passed  to  and  fro  rapidly  across  the  win- 
dow, as  if  persons  were  moving  within.  Roland  made  sign  to 
the  postboy  to  knock  again  ;  he  did  so  twice — thrice — and  at 
last,  from  an  attic  window  in  the  roof,  a  head  obtruded,  and  a 
voice  cried  :  "  Who  are  you  ?     What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I'm  the  postboy  at  the  Red  Lion  ;  I  want  to  see  the  ser- 
vant with  the  brown  carriage  :  I  have  found  this  purse  !  " 

"  Oh,  that's  all — wait  a  bit." 

The  head  disappeared  ;  we  crept  along  under  the  projecting 
eaves  of  the  house  ;  we  heard  the  bar  lifted  from  the  door  ; 
the  door  itself  cautiously  opened  ;  one  spring,  and  I  stood 
within,  and  set  my  back  to  the  door  to  admit  Roland. 

"  Ho,  help  ! — thieves  ! — help  !  "  cried  a  loud  voice,  and  I 
felt  a  hand  gripe  at  my  throat.  I  struck  at  random  in  the 
dark,  and  with  effect,  for  my  blow  was  followed  by  a  groan 
and  a  curse. 


THE     CAXTONS.  351 

Roland,  meanwhile,  had  detected  a  ray  through  the  chinks 
of  a  door  in  the  hall,  and,  guided  by  it,  found  his  way  into  the 
room  at  the  window  of  which  v/e  had  seen  the  light  pass  and 
go,  while  without.  As  he  threw  the  door  open,  I  bounded 
after  him,  and  saw,  in  a  kind  of  parlor,  two  females — the  one 
a  stranger,  no  doubt  the  hostess,  the  other  the  treacherous 
abigail.     Their  faces  evinced  their  terror. 

"  Woman,"  I  said,  seizing  the  last,  "  where  is  Miss  Tre- 
Vanion  ? "  Instead  of  replying,  the  woman  set  up  a  loud 
shriek.  Another  light  now  gleamed  from  the  staircase  which 
immediately  faced  the  door ;  and  I  heard  a  voice,  that  I 
recognized  as  Peacock's,  cry  out :  •'  Who's  there  ?  What's  the 
matter  ? " 

I  made  a  rush  at  the  stairs.  A  burly  form  (that  of  the 
landlord,  who  had  recovered  from  my  blow)  obstructed  my 
way  for  a  moment,  to  measure  its  length  on  the  floor  at  the 
next.  I  was  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  ;  Peacock  recognized  me, 
recoiled,  and  extinguished  the  light.  Oaths,  cries,  and  shrieks 
now  resounded  through  the  dark.  Amidst  them  all,  I  sud- 
denly heard  a  voice  exclaim,  •'  Here,  here  ! — help  !  "  It  was 
the  voice  of  Fanny.  I  made  my  way  to  the  right,  whence  the 
voice  came,  and  received  a  violent  blow.  Fortunately,  it  fell 
on  the  arm  which  I  extended,  as  men  do  who  feel  their  way 
through  the  dark.  It  was  not  the  right  arm,  and  I  seized  and 
closed  on  my  assailant.  Roland  now  came  up,  a  candle  in  his 
hand,  and  at  that  sight  my  antagonist,  who  was  no  other  than 
Peacock,  slipped  from  me,  and  made  a  rush  at  the  stairs.  But 
the  Captain  caught  him  with  his  grasp  of  iron.  Fearing  noth- 
ing for  Roland  in  a  contest  with  any  single  foe,  and  all  my 
thoughts  bent  on  the  rescue  of  her  whose  voice  again  broke  on 
my  ear,  I  had  already  (before  the  light  of  the  candle  which 
Roland  held  went  out  in  the  struggle  between  himself  and 
Peacock)  caught  sight  of  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  passage^ 
and  thrown  myself  against  it :  it  was  locked,  but  it  shook  and 
groaned  to  my  pressure. 

"  Hold  back,  whoever  you  are  !  "  cried  a  voice  from  a^ 
room  within,  far  different  from  that  wail  of  distress  which 
had  guided  my  steps.  "  Hold  back,  at  the  peril  of  your 
life  ! " 

The  voice,  the  threat,  redoubled  my  strength  ;  the  door  flew 
from  its  fastenings.  I  stood  in  the  room.  I  saw  Fanny  at  my 
feet,  clasping  my  hands  ;  then,  raising  herself,  she  hung  on 
my  shoulder  and  murmured  "  Saved  !  "  Opposite  to  me,  his 
face   deformed   by   passion,   his    eyes  literally  blazing   with 


352  THE     CAXT0N3. 

savage  fire,  his  nostrils  distended,  his  lips  apart,  stood  the 
man  I  have  called  Francis  Vivian. 

"  Fanny — Miss  Trevanion — what  outrage — what  villany  is 
this  ?  You  have  not  met  this  man  at  your  free  choice — oh, 
speak  !  "     Vivian  sprang  forward. 

"  Question  no  one  but  me.  Unhand  that  lady,  she  is  my 
betrothed — shall  be  my  wife  !  " 

"  No,  no,  no, — don't  believe  him,"  cried  Fanny  ;  "  I  have 
been  betrayed  by  my  own  servants — brought  here,  I  know 
not  how  !  I  heard  my  father  was  ill  ;  I  was  on  my  way  to 
him :  that  man  met  me  here,  and  dared  to — " 

"  Miss  Trevanion — yes,  I  dared  to  say  I  loved  you." 

"  Protect  me  from  him  ! — you  will  protect  me  from 
him  !  " 

"  No,  madam  !  "  said  a  voice  behind  me,  in  a  deep  tone,  "  it 
is  I  who  claim  the  right  to  protect  you  from  that  man  ;  it  is  I 
who  now  draw  around  you  the  arm  of  one  sacred,  even  to  him  ; 
it  is  I  who,  from  this  spot,  launch  upon  his  head — a  father's 
curse.  Violator  of  the  hearth  !  Baffled  ravisher  ! — go  thy 
way  to  the  doom  which  thou  hast  chosen  for  thyself.  God 
will  be  merciful  to  me  yet,  and  give  me  a  grave  before  thy 
course  find  its  close  in  the  hulks — or  at  the  gallows  !  " 

A  sickness  came  over  nie — a  terror  froze  my  veins — I  reeled 
back,  and  leant  for  support  against  the  wall.  Roland  had 
passed  his  arm  round  Fanny,  and  she,  frail  and  trembling, 
clung  to  his  broad  breast,  looking  fearfully  up  to  his  face. 
And  never  in  that  face,  ploughed  by  deep  emotions,  and  dark 
with  unutterable  sorrows,  had  1  seen  an  expression  so  grand 
in  its  wrath,  so  sublime  in  its  despair.  Following  the  direction 
of  his  eye,  stern  and  fixed  as  the  look  of  one  who  prophesies  a 
destiny  and  denounces  a  doom,  1  shivered  as  I  gazed  upon 
the  son.  His  whole  frame  seemed  collapsed  and  shrinking,  as 
if  already  withered  by  the  curse  ;  a  ghastly  whiteness  over- 
spread the  cheek,  usually  glowing  with  the  dark  bloom  of 
oriental  youth  ;  the  knees  knocked  together  ;  and,  at  last,  with 
a  faint  exclamation  of  pain,  like  the  cry  of  one  who  receives  a 
deathblow,  he  bowed  his  face  over  his  clasped  hands,  and  so 
remained — still,  but  cowering. 

Instinctively  I  advanced,  and  placed  myself  between  the 
father  and  the  son,  murmuring  :  "  Spare  him  ;  see,  his  own 
heart  crushes  him  down."  Then  stealing  towards  the  son,  I 
whispered  :  "  Go,  go  ;  the  crime  was  not  committed,  the  curse 
can  be  recalled."  But  my  words  touched  a  wrong  chord  in 
that  dark  and  rebellious  nature.     The  young  man  withdrew 


THE    CAXTONS.  353 

his  hands  hastily  from  his  face  and  reared  his  front  in  passion- 
ate  defiance. 

Waving  ine  aside,  he  cried  :  "  Away  !  I  acknowledge  no 
authority  over  my  actions  and  my  fate  ;  I  allow  no  mediator 
between  this  lady  and  myself.  Sir,"  he  continued,  gazing 
gloomily  on  his  father — "Sir,  you  forget  our  compact.  Our 
ties  were  severed,  your  power  over  me  annulled  ;  I  resigned 
the  name  you  bear  ;  to  you  I  was,  and  am  still,  as  the  dead. 
I  deny  your  right  to  step  between  me  and  the  object  dearer  to 
me  than  life." 

"  Oh  !  "  (and  here  he  stretched  forth  his  hands  towards 
Fanny) — "  Oh,  Miss  Trevanion,  do  not  refuse  me  one  prayer, 
however  you  condemn  me.  Let  me  see  you  alone  but  for  one 
moment ;  let  me  but  prove  to  you  that,  guilty  as  I  may  have 
been,  it  was  not  from  the  base  motives  you  will  hear  imputed 
to  me  ;  that  it  was  not  the  heiress  I  sought  to  decoy,  it  was 
the  woman  I  sought  to  win  ;  oh,  hear  me — " 

"  No,  no,"  murmured  Fanny,  clinging  closer  to  Roland, 
"  do  not  leave  me.  If,  as  it  seems,  he  is  your  son,  I  forgive 
him  ;  but  let  him  go— I  shudder  at  his  very  voice  !" 

"  Would  you  have  me,  indeed,  annihilate  the  memory  of  the 
bond  between  us  ? "  said  Roland,  in  a  hollow  voice  ;  *'  Would 
you  have  me  see  in  you  only  the  vile  thief,  the  lawless  felon — 
deliver  you  up  to  justice,  or  strike  you  to  my  feet  ?  Let 
the  memory  still  save  you,  and  begone  !  " 

Again  I  caught  hold  of  the  guilty  son,  and  again  he  broke 
from  my  grasp. 

"  It  is,"  he  said,  folding  his  arms  deliberately  on  his  breast — 
"  It  is  for  me  to  command  in  this  house  ;  all  who  are  within  it 
must  submit  to  my  orders.  You,  sir,  who  hold  reputation, 
name,  and  honor,  at  so  high  a  price,  how  can  you  fail  to  see 
that  you  would  rob  them  from  the  lady  whom  you  would  pro- 
tect from  the  insult  of  my  affection  ?  How  would  the  world 
receive  the  tale  of  your  rescue  of  Miss  Trevanion  ?  How 
believe  that — oh,  pardon  me,  madam — Miss  Trevanion — 
Fanny — pardon  me — I  am  mad  ;  only  hear  me — alone — alone — 
and  then  if  you,  too,  say  '  Begone,'  I  submit  without  a  mur- 
mur ;  I  allow  no  arbiter  but  you." 

But  Fanny  still  clung  closer,  and  closer  still,  to  Roland. 
At  that  moment  I  heard  voices  and  the  trampling  of  feet 
below,  and  supposing  that  the  accomplices  in  this  villany  were 
mustering  courage,  perhaps,  to  mount  to  the  assistance  of  their 
employer,  I  lost  all  the  compassion  that  had  hitherto  softened 
ray  horror  of  the  young  man's  crime,  and  all  the  awe  with 


354  THE    CAXTONS. 

which  that  confession  had  been  attended.  I  therefore,  this 
time,  seized  the  false  Vivian  with  a  gripe  that  he  could  no 
longer  shake  off,  and  said  sternly  : 

"  Beware  how  you  aggravate  your  offence.  If  strife  ensues, 
it  will  not  be  between  father  and  son,  and — " 

Fanny  sprang  forward.  "  Do  not  provoke  this  bad,  dan- 
gerous man.     1  fear  him  not.     Sir,  I  will  hear  you,  and  alone." 

"  Never  .' ''  cried  I  and  Roland  simultaneously. 

Vivian  turned  his  look  fiercely  to  me,  and  with  a  sullen  bit- 
cerness  to  his  father,  and  then,  as  if  resigning  his  former 
prayer,  he  said  :  "  Well,  then,  be  it  so  ;  even  in  the  presence 
of  those  who  judge  me  so  severely,  I  will  speak,  at  least."  He 
paused,  and  throwing  into  his  voice  a  passion  that,  had  the 
repugnance  at  his  guilt  been  less,  would  not  have  been  without 
pathos,  he  continued  to  address  Fanny  :  "  I  own  that,  when 
I  first  saw  you,  I  might  have  thought  of  love,  as  the  poor  and 
ambitious  think  of  the  way  to  wealth  and  power.  Those 
thoughts  vanished,  and  nothing  remained  in  my  heart  but  love 
and  madness.  I  was  as  a  man  in  a  delirium  when  I  planned 
this  snare.  I  knew  but  one  object,  saw  but  one  heavenly 
vision.  Oh  !  mine — mine  at  least  in  that  vision — are  you 
indeed  lost  to  me  forever  !  " 

There  was  that  in  this  man's  tone  and  manner  which, 
whether  arising  from  accomplished  hypocrisy  or  actual,  if  per- 
verted, feeling,  would,  I  thought,  find  its  way  at  once  to  the 
heart  of  a  woman  who,  however  wronged,  had  once  loved  him  ; 
and,  with  a  cold  misgiving,  I  fixed  my  eyes  on  Miss  Trevanion. 
Her  look,  as  she  turned  with  a  visible  tremor,  suddenly  met 
mine,  and  I  believe  that  she  discerned  my  doubt,  for  after  suf- 
fering her  eyes  to  rest  on  my  own  with  something  of  mournful 
reproach,  her  lips  curved  as  with  the  pride  of  her  mother,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  saw  anger  on  her  brow. 

"  It  is  well,  sir,  that  you  have  thus  spoken  to  me  in  the 
presence  of  others,  for  in  their  presence  I  call  upon  you  to  say, 
by  that  honor  which  the  son  of  this  gentleman  may  for  a  while 
forget,  but  cannot  wholly  forfeit, — I  call  upon  you  to  say, 
whether  by  deed,  word,  or  sign,  I,  Frances  Trevanion,  ever 
gave  you  cause  to  believe  that  I  returned  the  feeling  you  say 
you  entertained  for  me,  or  encouraged  you  to  dare  this  attempt 
to  place  me  in  your  power." 

*•  No  !  "  cried  Vivian  readily,  but  with  a  writhing  lip — **  no  ; 
but  where  I  loved  so  deeply,  perilled  all  my  fortune  for  one 
fair  and  free  occasion  to  tell  you  so  alone,  I  would  not  think 
that  such  love  could  meet  only  loathing  and  disdain.     What ! — 


THE     CAXTONS.  355 

has  nature  shaped  me  so  unkindly,  that  where  I  love  no  love 
can  reply?  What !  has  the  accident  of  birth  shut  me  out  from 
the  right  to  woo  and  mate  with  the  highborn  ?  For  the  last, 
at  least,  that  gentleman  in  justice  should  teli  you,  since  it  has 
been  his  care  to  instil  the  haughty  lesson  into  me,  that  my 
lineage  is  one  that  befits  lofty  hopes,  and  warrants  fearless 
ambition.  My  hopes,  my  ambition — they  were  you  !  Oh, 
Miss  Trevanion,  it  is  true  that  to  win  you  I  would  have  braved 
the  world's  laws,  defied  every  foe,  save  him  who  now  rises 
before  me.  Yet,  believe  me,  believe  me,  had  I  won  what  I 
dared  to  aspire  to,  you  would  not  have  been  disgraced  by  your 
choice  ;  and  the  name,  for  which  I  thank  not  my  father,  should 
not  have  been  despised  by  the  woman  who  pardoned  my  pre- 
sumption, nor  by  the  man  who  now  tramples  on  my  anguish 
and  curses  me  in  my  desolation." 

Not  by  a  word  had  Roland  sought  to  interrupt  his  son — 
nay,  by  a  feverish  excitement,  which  my  heart  understood  in 
its  secret  sympathy,  he  had  seemed  eagerly  to  court  every 
syllable  that  could  extenuate  the  darkness  of  the  offence,  or 
even  imply  some  less  sordid  motive  for  the  baseness  of  the 
means.  But  as  the  son  now  closed  with  the  words  of  unjust 
reproach,  and  the  accents  of  fierce  despair — closed  a  defence 
that  showed,  in  its  false  pride  and  its  perverted  eloquence,  so 
utter  a  blindness  to  every  principle  of  that  Honor  which  had 
been  the  father's  idol,  Roland  placed  his  hand  before  the  eyes 
that  he  had  previously,  as  if  spellbound,  fixed  on  the  hard- 
ened offender,  and  once  more  drawing  Fanny  towards  him, 
said  : 

"  His  breath  pollutes  the  air  that  innocence  and  honesty 
should  breathe.  He  says,  '  All  in  this  house  are  at  his  com- 
mand,'— why  do  we  stay  ?  Let  us  go."  He  turned  towards 
the  door,  and  Fanny  with  him. 

Meanwhile  the  louder  sounds  below  had  been  silenced  for 
some  moments,  but  I  heard  a  step  in  the  hall,  Vivian  started, 
and  placed  himself  before  us. 

"  No,  no,  you  cannot  leave  me  thus,  Miss  Trevanion.  I 
resign  you — be  it  so  ;  I  do  not  even  ask  for  pardon.  But  to 
leave  this  house  thus,  without  carriage,  without  attendants, 
without  explanation  ! — the  blame  falls  on  me — it  shall  do  so. 
But  at  least  vouchsafe  me  the  right  to  repair  what  I  yet  can 
repair  of  the  wrong,  to  protect  all  that  is  left  to  me — ^your 
name." 

As  he  spoke,  he  did  not  perceive  (for  he  was  facing  us,  and 
Vith  his  back  to  the  door)  that  a  new  actor  had  noiselessly 


3S6  THE    CAXTONS, 

entered  on  the  scene,  and,  pausing  by  the  threshold,  heard  his 
last  words. 

'*  The  name  of  Miss  Trevanion,  sir — and  from  what  ? " 
asked  the  newcomer,  as  he  advanced  and  surveyed  Vivian  with 
a  look  that,  but  for  its  quiet,  would  have  seemed  disdain. 

"  Lord  Castleton  1  "  exclaimed  Fanny,  lifting  up  the  face 
she  had  buried  in  her  hands. 

Vivian  recoiled  in  dismay,  and  gnashed  his  teeth. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  I  await  your  reply  ;  for  not  even 
you,  in  my  presence,  shall  imply  that  one  reproach  can  be 
attached  to  the  name  of  that  lady." 

"  Oh,  moderate  your  tone  to  me,  my  Lord  Castleton  !  " 
cried  Vivian  :  "  in  you  at  least  there  is  one  man  I  am  not  forbid- 
den to  brave  and  defy.  It  was  to  save  that  lady  from  the 
cold  ambition  of  her  parents  ;  it  was  to  prevent  the  sacrifice 
of  her  youth  and  beauty  to  one  whose  sole  merits  are  his 
wealth  and  his  titles — it  was  this  that  impelled  me  to  the 
crime  I  have  committed,  this  that  hurried  me  on  to  risk  all 
for  one  hour,  when  youth  at  least  could  plead  its  cause  to 
youth  ;  and  this  gives  me  now  the  power  to  say  that  it  does 
rest  with  me  to  protect  the  name  of  the  lady,  whom  your  very 
servility  to  that  world  which  you  have  made  your  idol  forbids 
you  to  claim  from  the  heartless  ambition  that  would  sacrifice 
the  daughter  to  the  vanity  of  the  parents.  Ha  !  the  future 
Marchioness  of  Castleton  on  her  way  to  Scotland  with  a  pen- 
niless adventurer  !  Ha  !  if  my  lips  are  sealed,  who  but  I  can 
seal  the  lips  of  those  below  in  my  secret  ?  The  secret  shall 
be  kept,  but  on  this  condition — you  shall  not  triumph  where  I 
have  failed  ;  I  may  lose  what  I  adored,  but  I  do  not  resign  it 
to  another.  Ha  !  have  I  foiled  you,  ray  Lord  Castleton  ? — 
ha,  ha ! " 

"  No,  sir  ;  and  I  almost  forgive  you  the  villany  you  have  not 
effected,  for  informing  me,  for  the  first  time,  that  had  I  pre- 
sumed to  address  Miss  Trevanion,  her  parents  at  least  would 
have  pardoned  the  presumption.  Trouble  not  yourself  as  to 
what  your  accomplices  may  say.  They  have  already  confessed 
their  infamy  and  your  own.     Out  of  my  path,  sir  !  " 

Then,  with  the  benign  look  of  a  father,  and  the  lofty 
grace  of  a  prince.  Lord  Castleton  advanced  to  Fanny.  Look- 
ing round  with  a  shudder,  she  hastily  placed  her  hand  in  his, 
and,  by  so  doing,  perhaps  prevented  some  violence  on  the 
part  of  Vivian,  whose  heaving  breast,  and  eye  bloodshot,  and 
still  unquailing,  showed  how  little  even  shame  had  subdued 
his  fiercer  passions.     But  he  made  no  offer  to  detain  them. 


THE     CAXTONS,  357 

and  his  tongue  seemed  to  cleave  to  his  lips.  Now,  as  Fanny 
moved  to  the  door,  she  passed  Roland,  who  stood  motionless 
and  with  vacant  looks,  like  an  image  of  stone  ;  and  with  a 
beautiful  tenderness,  for  which  (even  at  this  distant  date,  re- 
calling it),  I  say,  "God  requite  thee,  Fanny,"  she  laid  her 
other  hand  on  Roland's  arm,  and  said  :  "  Come  too  :  your 
arm  still  !  " 

But  Roland's  limbs  trembled  and  refused  to  stir  ;  his  head, 
relaxing,  drooped  on  his  breast,  his  eyes  closed.  Even  Lord 
Castleton  was  so  struck  (though  unable  to  guess  the  true  and 
terrible  cause  of  his  dejection)  that  he  forget  his  desire  to 
hasten  from  the  spot,  and  cried  with  all  his  kindliness  of 
heart,  "  You  are  ill — you  faint ;  give  him  your  arm,  Pisis- 
tratus." 

"  It  is  nothing,"  said  Roland  feebly,  as  he  leant  heavily  on 
my  arm,  while  I  turned  back  my  head  with  all  the  bitterness  of 
that  reproach  which  filled  my  heart,  speaking  in  the  eyes  that 
sought  him^  whose  place  should  have  been  where  mine  now 
was.  And,  oh  ! — thank  Heaven,  thank  Heaven  ! — the  look  was 
not  in  vain.  In  the  same  moment  the  son  was  at  the  father's 
knees. 

**  Oh,  pardon — pardon  !  Wretch,  lost  wretch,  though  I  be, 
I  bow  my  head  to  the  curse.  Let  it  fall — but  on  me,  and  on 
me,  only — not  on  your  own  heart  too." 

Fanny  burst  into  tears,  sobbing  out  :  "  Forgive  him  as  I  do." 

Roland  did  not  heed  her. 

"  He  thinks  that  the  heart  was  not  shattered  before  the 
curse  could  come,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  so  weak  as  to  be  scarcely 
audible.  Then,  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  his  lips  moved  as 
if  he  prayed  inly.  Pausing,  he  stretched  his  hands  over  his 
son's  head,  and  averting  his  face,  said  :  "  I  revoke  the  curse. 
Pray  to  thy  God  for  pardon." 

Perhaps  not  daring  to  trust  himself  further,  he  then  made  a 
violent  effort,  and  hurried  from  the  room. 

We  followed  silently.  When  we  gained  the  end  of  the  pas- 
sage, the  door  of  the  room  we  had  left  closed  with  a  sullen  jar. 

As  the  sound  smote  on  my  ear,  with  it  came  so  terrible  a 
sense  of  the  solitude  upon  which  that  door  had  clo.sed — so  keen 
and  quick  an  apprehension  of  some  fearful  impulse,  suggested 
by  passions  so  fierce,  to  a  condition  so  forlorn — that  instinct- 
ively I  stopped,  and  then  hurried  back  to  the  chamber.  The 
lock  of  the  door  having  been  previously  forced,  there  was 
no  barrier  to  oppose  my  entrance.  I  advanced,  and  beheld  a 
spectacle  of  such  agony  as   can  only  be  conceived  by  those 


358  IHE    CAXTONS. 

who  have  looked  on  the  grief  which  takes  no  fortitude  from 
reason,  no  consolation  from  conscience — the  grief  which  tells 
us  what  would  be  the  eaith  were  man  abandoned  to  his  pas- 
sions, and  the  chance  of  the  atheist  reigned  alone  in  the  mer- 
ciless heavens.  Pride  humbled  to  the  dust ;  ambition  shivered 
into  fragments  ;  love  (or  the  passion  mistaken  for  it)  blasted 
into  ashes  ;  life,  at  the  first  onset,  bereaved  of  its  holiest  ties, 
forsaken  by  its  truest  guide  ;  shame  that  writhed  for  revenge, 
and  remorse  that  knew  not  prayer — all,  all  blended,  yet  dis- 
tinct, were  in  that  awful  spectacle  of  the  guilty  son. 

And  I  had  told  but  twenty  years,  and  my  heart  had  been 
mellowed  in  the  tender  sunshine  of  a  happy  home,  and  I  had 
loved  this  boy  as  a  stranger,  and,  lo  ! — he  was  Roland's  son  ! 
1  forgot  all  else,  looking  upon  that  anguish  ;  and  I  threw  my- 
self on  the  ground  by  the  form  that  writhed  there,  and,  folding 
my  arms  round  the  breast  which  in  vain  repelled  me,  I  whis- 
pered :  "  Comfort — comfort — life  is  long.  You  shall  redeem 
the  past,  you  shall  efface  the  stain,  and  your  father  shall  bless 
you  yet  ! " 

CHAPTER  II. 

I  COULD  not  stay  long  with  my  unhappy  cousin,  but  still  I 
stayed  long  enough  to  make  me  think  it  probable  that  Lord 
Castleton's  carriage  would  have  left  the  inn  :  and  when,  as  I 
passed  the  hall,  I  saw  it  standing  before  the  open  door,  I  was 
seized  with  fear  for  Roland  ;  his  emotions  might  have  ended 
iji  some  physical  attack.  Nor  were  those  fears  without  foun- 
dation. I  found  Fanny  kneeling  beside  the  old  soldier  in  the 
parlor  where  we  had  seen  the  two  women,  and  bathing  his 
temples,  while  Lord  Castleton  was  binding  his  arm  ;  and  the 
Marquis's  favorite  valet,  who,  amongst  his  other  gifts,  was 
something  of  a  surgeon,  was  wiping  the  blade  of  the  penknife 
that  had  served  instead  of  a  lancet.  Lord  Castleton  nodded 
to  me  :  "  Don't  be  uneasy — a  little  fainting  fit — we  have  bled 
him.     He  is  safe  now — see,  he  is  recovering." 

Roland's  eyes,  as  they  opened,  turned  to  me  with  an  anxious, 
inquiring  look.  I  smiled  upon  him  as  I  kissed  his  forehead, 
and  could,  with  a  safe  conscience,  whisper  words  which  neither 
father  nor  Christian  could  refuse  to  receive  as  comfort. 

In  a  few  minutes  more  we  had  left  the  house.  As  Lord 
Castleton's  carriage  only  held  two,  the  Marquis,  having  assisted 
Miss  Trevanion  and  Roland  to  enter,  quietly  mounted  the  seat 
behind,  and  made  a  sign  to  me  to  come  by  his  side,  for  there 


THE   CAXTONS.  359 

was  room  for  both.  (His  servant  had  taken  one  of  the  horses 
that  had  brought  thither  Roland  and  myself,  and  already  gone 
on  before.)  No  conversation  took  place  between  us  then. 
Lord  Castleton  seemed  profoundly  affected,  and  I  had  no 
words  at  my  command. 

When  we  reached  the  inn  at  which  Lord  Castleton  had 
changed  horses,  about  six  miles  distant,  the  Marquis  insisted 
on  Fanny's  taking  some  rest  for  a  few  hours,  for  indeed  she 
was  thoroughly  worn  out. 

I  attended  my  uncle  to  his  room,  but  he  only  answered  my 
assurances  of  his  son's  repentance  with  a  pressure  of  the  hand, 
and  then,  gliding-from  me,  went  into  the  farthest  recess  of  the 
room,  and  there  knelt  down.  When  he  rose,  he  was  passive 
and  tractable  as  a  child.  He  suffered  me  to  assist  him  to 
undress  ;  and  when  he  had  lain  down  on  the  bed  he  turned 
his  face  quietly  from  the  light,  and  after  a  few  heavy  sighs, 
sleep  seemed  mercifully  to  steal  upon  him.  I  listened  to  his 
breathing  till  it  grew  low  and  regular,  and  then  descended  to 
the  sitting-room  in  which  I  had  left  Lord  Castleton,  for  he  had 
asked  me  in  a  whisper  to  seek  him  there. 

I  found  the  Marquis  seated  by  the  fire,  in  a  thoughtful  and 
dejected  attitude. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  come,"  said  he,  making  room  for  me  on 
the  hearth,  "  for  I  assure  you  I  have  not  felt  so  mournful  for 
many  years  ;  we  have  much  to  explain  to  each  other.  Will 
you  begin  :  they  say  the  sound  of  the  bell  dissipates  the 
thunder-cloud.  And  there  is  nothing  like  the  voice  of  a 
frank,  honest  nature  to  dispel  all  the  clouds  that  come  upon 
us  when  we  think  of  our  own  faults  and  the  villany  of  others. 
But  I  beg  you  a  thousand  pardons — that  young  man,  your  re- 
lation ! — your  brave  uncle's  son  !     Is  it  possible  !  " 

My  explanations  to  Lord  Castleton  were  necessarily  brief 
and  imperfect.  The  separation  between  Roland  his  son,  my. 
ignorance  of  its  cause,  my  belief  in  the  death  of  the  latter,  my 
chance  acquaintance  with  the  supposed  Vivian  ;  the  interest  I 
took  in  him  ;  the  relief  it  was  to  the  fears  for  his  fate  with 
which  he  inspired  me,  to  think  he  had  returned  to  the  home  I 
ascribed  to  him  :  and  the  circumstances  which  had  induced 
my  suspicions,  justified  by  the  result — all  this  was  soon  hur- 
ried over. 

"  But,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Marquis,  interrupting 
me,  "  did  you,  in  your  friendship  for  one  so  unlike  you,  even 
by  your  own  partial  account,  never  suspect  that  you  had  stum- 
bled upon  your  lost  cousin  ? " 


360  THE   CAXTONS. 

*'  Such  an  idea  never  could  have  crossed  me." 

And  here  I  must  observe,  that  though  the  reader,  at  the 
first  introduction  of  Vivian,  would  divine  the  secret,  the  pene- 
tration of  a  reader  is  wholly  different  from  that  of  the  actor  in 
events.  That  I  had  chanced  on  one  of  those  curious  coinci- 
dences in  the  romance  of  real  life,  which  a  reader  looks  out 
for  and  expects  in  following  the  course  of  narrative,  was  a  sup- 
position forbidden  to  me  by  a  variety  of  causes.  There  was 
not  the  least  family  resemblance  between  Vivian  and  any  of 
his  relations  ;  and,  somehow  or  other,  in  Roland's  son  I  had 
pictured  to  myself  a  form  and  a  character  wholly  different  from 
Vivian's.  To  me  it  would  have  seemed  -mpossible  that  my 
cousin  could  have  been  so  little  curious  to  hear  any  of  our 
joint  family  affairs  ;  been  so  unheedful,  or  even  weary,  if  I 
spoke  of  Roland  ;  never,  by  a  word  or  tone,  have  betrayed  a 
sympathy  with  his  kindred.  And  my  other  conjecture  was  so 
probable  ! — son  of  the  Colonel  Vivian  whose  name  he  bore. 
And  that  letter,  with  the  post-mark  of  "  Godalming  !  "  and  my 
belief,  too,  in  my  cousin's  death  ;  even  now  I  am  not  surprised 
that  the  idea  never  occurred  to  me. 

I  paused  from  enumerating  these  excuses  for  my  dulness, 
angry  with  myself,  for  I  noticed  that  Lord  Castleton's  fair 
brow  darkened  ;  and  he  exclaimed  :  "  What  deceit  he  must 
have  gone  through  before  he  could  become  such  a  master  in 
the  art  !  " 

"That  is  true,  and  I  cannot  deny  it,"  said  I.  "But  his 
punishment  now  is  awful  :  let  us  hope  that  repentance  may 
follow  the  chastisement.  And,  though  certainly  it  must  have 
been  his  own  fault  that  drove  him  from  his  father's  home  and 
guidance,  yet,  so  driven,  let  us  make  some  allowance  for  the 
influence  of  evil  companionship  on  one  so  young — for  the  sus. 
picions  that  the  knowledge  of  evil  produces,  and  turns  into  a 
kind  of  false  knowledge  of  the  world.  And  in  this  last  and 
worst  of  all  his  actions — " 

"  Ah,  how  justify  that  ? " 

"  Justify  it  ! — good  Heavens  !  justify  it  ! — no.  I  only  say 
this,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  that  I  believe  his  affection  for 
Miss  Trevanion  was  for  herself  :  so  he  says,  from  the  depth  of 
Bn  anguish  in  which  the  most  insincere  of  men  would  cease  to 
feign.     But  no  more  of  this — she  is  saved,  thank  Heaven  !  " 

"  And  you  believe,"  said  Lord  Castleton  musingly.  "  that  he 
spoke  the  truth  when  he  thought  that  I — "  The  Marquis 
stopped,  colored  slightly,  and  then  went  on.  "  But  no  ;  Lady 
Ellinor  and  Trevanion,  whatever  might  have  been  in  their 


THE   CAXTONS.  361 

thoughts,  would  never  have  so  forgot  their  dignity  as  to  take 
him,  a  youth — almost  a  stranger — nay,  take  any  one  into  theif 
confidence  on  such  a  subject." 

"  It  was  but  by  broken  gasps,  incoherent,  disconnected  words, 
that  Vivian — I  mean  my  cousin — gave  me  any  explanation  of 

this.     But  Lady  N ,  at  whose  house  he  was  staying,  appears 

to  have  entertained  such  a  notion,  or  at  least  led  my  cousin  to 
think  so." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  possible,"  said  Lord  Castleton,  with  a  look  of 

relief.     "  Lady  N and  I  were  boy  and  girl  together  ;  we 

correspond  ;  she  has  written  to  me  suggesting  that —  Ah  !  I 
see — an  indiscreet  woman.  Hum  !  this  comes  of  lady  corre- 
spondents !  " 

Lord  Castleton  had  recourse  to  the  Beaudesert  mixture  ; 
and  then,  as  if  eager  to  change  the  subject,  began  his  own 
explanation.  On  receiving  my  letter,  he  saw  even  more  cause 
to  suspect  a  snare  than  I  had  done,  for  he  had  that  morning 
received  a  letter  from  Trevanion,  not  mentioning  a  word  about 
his  illness  ;  and  on  turning  to  the  newspaper,  and  seeing  a 
paragraph  headed  :  "  Sudden  and  alarming  illness  of  Mr. 
Trevanion,"  the  Marquis  had  suspected  some  party  manoeuvre 
or  unfeeling  hoax,  since  the  mail  that  had  brought  the  letter 
must  have  travelled  as  quickly  as  any  messenger  who  had 
given  the  information  to  the  newspaper.  He  had,  however, 
immediately  sent  down  to  the  office  of  the  journal  to  inquire 
on  what  authority  the  paragraph  had  been  inserted,  while  he 
despatched  another  messenger  to  St.  James's  Square.  The 
reply  from  the  office  was,  that  the  message  had  been  brought 
by  a  servant  in  Mr.  Trevanion's  livery,  but  was  not  admitted 
as  news  until  it  had  been  ascertained  by  inquiries  at  the  minis- 
ter's house  that  Lady  Ellinor  had  received  the  same  intelli- 
gence, and  actually  left  town  in  consequence. 

"  I  was  extremely  sorry  for  poor  Lady  Ellinor's  uneasiness," 
said  Lord  Castleton,  "  and  extremely  puzzled,  but  I  still 
thought  there  could  be  no  real  ground  for  alarm  until  your 
letter  reached  me.  And  when  you  there  stated  your  convic- 
tion that  Mr.  Gower  was  mixed  up  in  this  fable,  and  that  it 
concealed  some  snare  upon  Fanny,  I  saw  the  thing  at  a  glance. 

The  road  to  Lord  N 's,  till   within  the   last  stage  or  two, 

would  be  the  road  to  Scotland.  And  a  hardy  and  unscrupu- 
lous adventurer,  with  the  assistance  of  Miss  Trevanion's  ser- 
vants, might  thus  entrap  her  to  Scotland  itself,  and  there  work 
on  her  fears  ;  or,  if  he  had  hope  in  her  affections,  entrap  her 
into  consent  to  a  Scotch  marriage.   You  may  be  sure,  therefore, 


362  THE   CAXTONS. 

that  I  was  on  the  road  as  soon  as  possible.  But  as  your  mes- 
senger came  all  the  way  from  the  city,  and  not  so  quickly  per- 
haps as  he  might  have  come  :  and  then,  as  there  was  the  carriage 
to  see  to,  and  the  horses  to  send  for,  I  found  myself  more  than 
an  hour  and  a  half  behind  you.  Fortunately,  however,  I  made 
good  ground,  and  should  probably  have  overtaken  you  half- 
way, but  that  on  passing  between  a  ditch  and  wagon,  the  car- 
riage was  upset,  and  that  somewhat  delayed  me.     On  arriving 

at  the  town  where  the  road  branched  off  to  Lord   N 's, 

1  was  rejoiced  to  learn  you  had  taken  what  I  was  sure  would 
prove  the  right  direction,  and  finally  I  gained  the  clue  to  that 
villanous  inn  by  the  report  of  the  postboys  who  had  taken 
Miss  Trevanion's  carriage  there,  and  met  you  on  the  road.  On 
reaching  the  inn,  I  found  two  fellows  conferring  outside  the 
door.  They  sprang  in  as  we  drove  up,  but  not  before  my  ser- 
vant Summers — a  quick  fellow,  you  know,  who  has  travelled 
with  me  from  Norway  to  Nubia — had  quitted  his  seat,  and  got 
into  the  house,  into  which  I  followed  him  with  a  step,  you  dog, 
as  active  as  your  own  !  Egad  !  I  was  twenty-one  then  ! 
Two  fellows  had  already  knocked  down  poor  Summers  and 
showed  plenty  of  fight.  Do  you  know,"  said  the  Marquis, 
interrupting  himself  with  an  air  of  serio-comic  humiliation — 
"  do  you  know  that  I  actually — no,  you  never  will  believe  it — 
mind  'tis  a  secret — actually  broke  my  cane  over  one  fellow's 
shoulders  ? — look  !  "  (and  the  Marquis  held  up  the  fragment 
of  the  lamented  weapon).  "  And  I  half  suspect,  but  I  can't 
say  positively,  that  I  had  even  the  necessity  to  demean  myself 
by  a  blow  with  the  naked  hand — clenched  too  ! — quite  Eton 
again — upon  my  honor  it  was.     Ha,  ha  !  " 

And  the  Marquis — whose  magnificent  proportions,  in  the 
full  vigor  of  man's  strongest,  if  not  his  most  combative,  age, 
would  have  made  him  a  formidable  antagonist,  even  to  a  couple 
of  prize-fighters,  supposing  he  had  retained  a  little  of  Eton 
skill  in  such  encounters — laughed  with  the  glee  of  a  school- 
boy, whether  at  the  thought  of  his  prowess,  or  his  sense  of 
the  contrast  between  so  rude  a  recourse  to  primitive  war- 
fare, and  his  own  indolent  habits  and  almost  feminine  good 
temper.  Composing  himself,  however,  with  the  quick  recol- 
lection how  little  1  could  share  his  hilarity,  he  resumed 
gravely  :  "  It  took  us  some  time — I  don't  say  to  defeat  our 
foes — but  to  bind  them,  which  I  thought  a  necessary  precau- 
tion ;  one  fellow,  Trevanion's  servant,  all  the  while  stunning 
me  with  quotations  from  Shakespeare.  I  then  gently  laid 
hold  of  a  gown,  the  bearer  of  which  had  been  long  trying 


THE    CAXTONS.  ^(f^ 

to  scratch  me  ;  but  being  luckily  a  small  woman,  had  not  suc- 
ceeded in  reaching  to  my  eyes.  But  the  gown  escaped,  and 
fluttered  off  to  the  kitchen.  I  followed,  and  there  I  found 
Miss  Trevanion's  Jezebel  of  a  maid.  She  was  terribly  fright- 
ened and  affected  to  be  extremely  penitent.  I  own  to  you  that  I 
don't  care  what  a  man  says  in  the  way  of  slander,  but  a  woman's 
tongue  against  another  woman — especially  if  that  tongue  be 
in  the  mouth  of  a  lady's  lady — I  think  it  always  worth  silencing  ; 
I  therefore  consented  to  pardon  this  woman  on  condition  she 
would  find  her  way  here  before  morning.  No  scandal  shall 
come  from  her.  Thus  you  see  some  minutes  elapsed  before  I 
joined  you  ;  but  I  minded  that  the  less,  as  I  heard  you  and 
the  Captain  were  already  in  the  room  with  Miss  Trevanion  ; 
?.nd  not,  alas !  dreaming  of  your  connection  with  the  culprit, 
I  was  wondering  what  could  have  delayed  you  so  long, — afraid, 
I  own  it,  to  find  that  Miss  Trevanion's  heart  might  have  been 
seduced  by  that — hem — hem  !  — handsome — young — hem — 
hem  ! —  There's  no  fear  of  that?"  added  Lord  Castleton  anx- 
iously, as  he  bent  his  bright  eyes  upon  mine. 

I  felt  myself  color  as  I  answered  firmly  :  "  It  is  just  to  Miss 
Trevanion  to  add  that  the  unhappy  man  owned,  in  her  presence 
and  in  mine,  that  he  had  never  had  the  slightest  encouragement 
for  his  attempt — never  one  cause  to  believe  that  she  approved 
the  affection  which,  I  try  to  think,  blinded  and  maddened  him- 
self." 

"  I  believe  you  ;  for  I  think — "  Lord  Castleton  paused  un- 
easily, again  looked  at  me,  rose,  and  walked  about  the  room 
with  evident  agitation  ;  then,  as  if  he  had  come  to  some  res- 
olution, he  returned  to  the  hearth  and  stood   facing  me. 

"  My  dear  young  friend,"  said  he,  with  his  irresistible,  kindly 
frankness,  "  this  is  an  occasion  that  excuses  all  things  between 
us,  even  my  impertinence.  Your  conduct  from  first  to  last 
has  been  such,  that  I  wish,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  that 
I  had  a  daughter  to  offer  you,  and  that  you  felt  for  her  as  I 
believe  you  feel  for  Miss  Trevanion.  These  are  not  mere 
words  ;  do  not  look  down  as  if  ashamed.  All  the  marquisates 
in  the  world  would  never  give  me  the  pride  I  should  feel,  if  I 
could  see  in  my  life  one  steady  self-sacrifice  to  duty  and 
honor,  equal  to  that  which  I  have  witnessed  in  you." 

"  Oh,  my  lord  !  my  lord  !  " 

"  Hear  me  out.  That  you  love  Fanny  Trevanion  I  know  ; 
that  she  may  have  innocently,  timidly,  half-unconsciously,  re- 
turned that  affection,  I  think  probable.     But — " 

*  I  know  what  you  would  say  ;  spare  me — I  know  it  all." 


364  THE   CAXTONS. 

"  No  !  it  is  a  thing  impossible  ;  and,  if  Lady  Ellinor  could 
consent,  there  would  be  such  a  lifelong  regret  on  her  part, 
such  a  weight  of  obligation  on  yours,  that — no,  I  repeat,  it  is 
impossible  !  But  let  us  both  think  of  this  poor  girl.  I  know 
her  better  than  you  can — have  known  her  from  a  child  ;  know 
all  her  virtues — they  are  charming  ;  all  her  faults — they  ex- 
pose her  to  danger.  These  parents  of  hers,  with  their  genius 
and  ambition,  may  do  very  well  to  rule  England,  and  influence 
the  world  ;  but  to  guide  the  fate  of  that  child — no !  "  Lord 
Castleton  stopped,  for  he  was  affected.  I  felt  my  old  jealousy 
return,  but  it  was  no  longer  bitter. 

"  I  say  nothing,"  continued  the  Marquis,  "of  this  position, 
in  which,  without  fault  of  hers.  Miss  Trevanion  is  placed  : 
Lady  Ellinor's  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  woman's  wit,  will 
see  how  all  that  can  be  best  put  right.  Still  it  is  awkward, 
and  demands  much  consideration.  But,  putting  this  aside 
altogether,  if  you  do  firmly  believe  that  Miss  Trevanion  is  lost 
to  you,  can  you  bear  to  think  that  she  is  to  be  flung  as  a  mere 
cypher  into  the  account  of  the  worldly  greatness  of  an  aspiring 
politician — married  to  some  minister,  too  busy  to  watch  over 
her  ;  or  some  duke,  who  looks  to  pay  off  his  mortgages  with 
her  fortune — minister  or  duke  only  regarded  as  a  prop  to 
Trevanion's  power  against  a  counter  cabal,  or  as  giving  his 
section  a  preponderance  in  the  Cabinet?  Be  assured  such 
is  her  most  likely  destiny,  or  rather  the  beginning  of  a  des- 
tiny yet  more  mournful.  Now,  I  tell  you  this,  that  he  who 
marries  Fanny  Trevanion  should  have  little  other  object,  for 
the  first  few  years  of  marriage,  than  to  correct  her  failings 
and  develop  her  virtues.  Believe  one  who,  alas  !  has  too 
dearly  bought  his  knowledge  of  woman — hers  is  a  character  to 
be  formed.  Well,  then,  if  this  prize  be  lost  to  you,  would  it  be 
an  irreparable  grief  to  your  generous  affection  to  think  that  it 
has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  one  who  at  least  knows  his  responsibil- 
ities, and  who  will  redeem  his  own  life,  hitherto  wasted,  by  the 
steadfast  endeavor  to  fulfil  them  ?  Can  you  take  this  hand 
still,  and  press  it,  even  though  it  be  a  rival's?" 

"  My  lord  !     This  from  you  to  me,  is  an  honor  that — " 

"  You  will  not  take  my  hand  ?  Then,  believe  me,  it  is  not  I 
that  will  give  that  grief  to  your  heart." 

Touched,  penetrated,  melted  by  this  generosity  in  a  man  of 
such  lofty  claims,  to  one  of  my  age  and  fortunes,  I  pressed 
that  noble  hand,  half  raising  it  to  my  lips — an  action  of  respect 
that  would  have  misbecome  neither ;  but  he  gently  withdrew 
the  hand,  in  the  instinct  of  his  natural  modesty.     I  had  then 


THE   CAXTONS.  ,  36^ 

no  heart  to  speak  further  on  such  a  subject,  but,  faltering  out 
that  I  would  go  and  see  my  uncle,  I  took  up  the  light,  and 
ascended  the  stairs.  I  crept  noiselessly  into  Roland's  room, 
and  shading  the  light,  saw  that,  though  he  slept,  his  face  was 
very  troubled.  And  then  I  thought:  "What  are  my  young 
griefs  to  his  ?  "  and  sitting  beside  the  bed,  communed  with  my 
own  heart,  and  was  still ! 

CHAPTER   III, 

At  sunrise  I  went  down  into  the  sitting-room,  having 
resolved  to  write  to  my  father  to  join  us  ;  for  1  felt  how  much 
Roland  needed  his  comfort  and  his  counsel,  and  it  was  no 
great  distance  from  the  old  Tower,  I  was  surprised  to  find 
Lord  Castleton  still  seated  by  the  fire  ;  he  had  evidently  not 
gone  to  bed. 

"  That's  right,"  said  he  ;  "  we  must  encourage  each  other  to 
recruit  nature,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  breakfast  things  on  the 
table. 

1  had  scarcely  tasted  food  for  many  hours,  but  I  was  only 
aware  of  my  own  hunger  by  a  sensation  of  faintness.  I  ate 
unconsciously,  and  was  almost  ashamed  to  feel  how  much  the 
food  restored  me. 

"I  suppose,"  said  I, "  that  you  will  soon  set  off  to  Lord  N.'s?" 

"  Nay,  did  I  not  tell  you,  that  I  have  sent  Summers  express, 
with  a  note  to  Lady  EUinor,  begging  her  to  come  here  ?  I  did 
not  see,  on  reflection,  how  I  could  decorously  accompany  Miss 
Trevanion  alone,  without  even  a  female  servant,  to  a  house 
full  of  gossiping  guests.  And  even  had  j'our  uncle  been  well 
enough  to  go  with  us,  his  presence  would  but  have  created  an 
additional  cause  for  wonder  ;  so,  as  soon  as  we  arrived,  and 
while  you  went  up  with  the  Captain,  I  wrote  my  letter  and 
despatched  my  man.  1  expect  Lady  Ellinor  will  be  here  before 
nine  o'clock.  Meanwhile,  I  have  already  seen  that  infamous 
waiting-woman,  and  taken  care  to  prevent  any  danger  from 
her  garrulity.  And  you  will  be  pleased  to  hear  that  1  have  hit 
upon  a  mode  of  satisfying  the  curiosity  of  our  friend  Mrs. 
Grundy — that  is, '  the  World  ' — without  injury  to  any  one.  We 
must  suppose  that  that  footman  of  Trevanion's  was  out  of  his 
mind — it  is  but  a  charitable,  and  your  good  father  would 
say,  a  philosophical  supposition.  All  great  knavery  is  mad- 
ness !  The  world  could  not  get  on  if  truth  and  goodness 
were  not  the  natural  tendencies  of  sane  minds.  Do  you 
understand?" 


366  ,  THE    CAXTONS. 

'*  Not  quite." 

"  Why,  the  footman,  being  out  of  his  mind,  invented  this 
mad  story  of  Trevanion's  illness,  frightened  Lady  Ellinor  and 
Miss  Trevanion  out  of  their  wits  with  his  own  chimera,  and 
hurried  them  both  off,  one  after  the  other.  I  having  heard 
from  Trevanion,  and  knowing  he  could  not  have  been  ill  when 
the  servant  left  him,  set  off,  as  was  natural  in  so  old  a  friend 
of  the  family,  saved  her  from  the  freaks  of  a  maniac,  who, 
getting  more  and  more  flighty,  was  beginning  to  play  the  Jack 
o'  Lantern,  and  leading  her,  Heaven  knows  where  !  over  the 
country  ;  and  then  wrote  to  Lady  Ellinor  to  come  to  her.  It 
is  but  a  hearty  laugh  at  our  expense,  and  Mrs.  Grundy  is  con- 
tent. If  you  don't  want  her  to  pity,  or  backbite,  let  her  laugh. 
She  is  a  she-Cerberus — she  wants  to  eat  you  ;  well — stop  her 
mouth  with  a  cake. 

"  Yes,"  continued  this  better  sort  of  Aristippus,  so  wise 
under  all  his  seeming  levities  ;  "the  cue  thus  given,  every- 
thing favors  it.  If  that  rogue  of  a  lackey  quoted  Shakspeare 
as  much  in  the  servants'  hall  as  he  did  while  I  was  binding 
him  neck  and  heels  in  the  kitchen,  that's  enough  for  all 
the  household  to  declare  he  was  moon-stricken  ;  and  if  we 
find  it  necessary  to  do  anything  more,  why  we  must  induce 
him  to  go  into  Bedlam  for  a  month  or  two.  The  disappearance 
of  the  waiting-woman  is  natural ;  either  I  or  Lady  Ellinor 
send  her  about  her  business  for  her  folly  in  being  so  gulled 
by  the  lunatic.  If  that's  unjust,  why,  injustice  to  servants  is 
common  enough — public  and  private.  Neither  minister  nor 
lackey  can  be  forgiven,  if  he  help  us  into  a  scrape.  One 
must  vent  one's  passion  on  something.  Witness  my  poor 
cane  :  though,  indeed,  a  better  illustration  would  be  the  cane 
that  Louis  XIV.  broke  on  a  footman,  because  his  majesty  was 
out  of  humor  with  a  prince,  whose  shoulders  were  too  sacred 
for  royal  indignation. 

"  So  you  see,"  concluded  Lord  Castleton,  lowering  his 
voice,  "  that  your  uncle,  amongst  all  his  other  causes  of  sor- 
sow,  may  think  at  least  that  his  name  is  spared  in  his  son's. 
And  the  young  man  himself  may  find  reform  easier,  when 
freed  from  that  despair  of  the  possibility  of  redemption,  which 
Mrs.  Grundy  inflicts  upon  those  who —  Courage,  then  ;  life  is 
long  ! " 

"  My  very  words  ! "  I  cried  ;  "  and  so  repeated  by  you, 
Lord  Castleton,  they  seem  prophetic." 

"  Take  my  advice,  and  don't  lose  sight  of  your  cousin,  while 
his  pride  is  yet  humbled,  and  his  heart  perhaps  softened.     I 


titE    CAXTONS.  ^6j 

don't  say  this  only  for  his  sake.  No,  it  is  your  poor  uncle  I 
think  of  :  noble  old  fellow.  And  now,  I  think  it  right  to  pay 
Lady  Ellinor  the  respect  of  repairing,  as  well  as  I  can,  the 
havoc  three  sleepless  nights  have  made  on  the  exterior  of  a 
gentleman  who  is  on  the  shady  side  of  remorseless  forty." 

Lord  Castleton  here  left  me,  and  I  wrote  to  my  father,  beg- 
ging him  to  meet  us  at  the  next  stage  (which  was  the  nearest 
point  from  the  high  road  to  the  Tower),  and  I  sent  off  the 
letter  by  a  messenger  on  horseback.  That  task  done,  I  leant 
my  head  upon  my  hand,  and  a  profound  sadness  settled  upon 
me,  despite  all  my  efforts  to  face  the  future,  and  think  only  of 
the  duties  of  life — not  its  sorrows. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Before  nine  o'clock.  Lady  Ellinor  arrived,  and  went 
straight  into  Miss  Trevanion's  room.  I  took  refuge  in  my 
uncle's.  Roland  was  awake  and  calm,  but  so  feeble  that  he 
made  no  effort  to  rise  ;  and  it  was  his  calm,  indeed,  that 
alarmed  me  the  most :  it  was  like  the  calm  of  nature  thoroughly 
exhausted.  He  obeyed  me  mechanically,  as  a  patient  takes 
from  your  hand  the  draught,  of  which  he  is  almost  uncon- 
scious, when  I  pressed  him  to  take  food.  He  smiled  on  me, 
faintly,  when  I  spoke  to  him  ;  but  made  me  a  sign  that  seemed 
to  implore  silence.  Then  he  turned  his  face  from  me,  and 
buried  it  in  the  pillow  ;  and  I  thought  that  he  slept  again, 
when,  raising  himself  a  little,  and  feeling  for  my  hand,  he  said 
in  a  scarcely  audible  voice  : 

'•  Where  is  he  ?" 

"  Would  you  see  him,  sir  ? " 

"  No,  no ;  that  would  kill  me — and  then — what  would  become 
of  him  ?" 

"  He  has  promised  me  an  interview,  and  in  that  interview  I 
feel  assured  he  will  obey  your  wishes,  whatever  they  are." 

Roland  made  no  answer. 

"  Lord  Castleton  has  arranged  all,  so  that  his  name  and 
madness  (thus  let  us  call  it)  will  never  be  known." 

"  Pride,  pride  !  pride  still ! "  murmured  the  old  soldier. 
"  The  name,  the  name — well,  that  is  much  ;  but  the  living 
soul !     I  wish  Austin  were  here." 

"  I  have  sent  for  him,  sir." 

Roland  pressed  my  hand,  and  was  again  silent.  Then  he 
began  to  mutter,  as  I  thought,  incoherently,  about  the  Penin- 
sula and  obeying  orders ;  and  how  some  officer  woke  Lord 


368  tHE    CAXTONS. 

Wellington  at  night,  and  said  that  something  or  other  (I  coulc 
not  catch  what — the  phrase  was  technical  and  military)  was 
impossible ;  and  how  Lord  Wellington  asked,  "  Where's  the 
order-book  ? "  and  looking  into  the  order-book,  said,  "  Not  at 
all  impossible,  for  it  is  in  the  order-book"  ;  and  so  Lord  Wel- 
lington turned  round  and  went  to  sleep  again.  Then  suddenly 
Roland  half  rose,  and  said  in  a  voice  clear  and  firm:  "But 
Lord  Wellington,  though  a  great  captain,  was  a  fallible  man, 
sir,  and  the  order-book  was  his  own  mortal  handiwork.  Get 
me  the  Bible!" 

Oh,  Roland,  Roland !  and  I  had  feared  that  my  mind  was 
wandering ! 

So  I  went  down  and  borrowed  a  Bible,  in  large  characters, 
and  placed  it  on  the  bed  before  him,  opening  the  shutters,  and 
letting  in  God's  day  upon  God's  word. 

I  had  just  done  this,  when  there  was  a  slight  knock  at  the 
door.  I  opened  it,  and  Lord  Castleton  stood  without.  He 
asked  me,  in  a  whisper,  if  he  might  see  my  uncle.  I  drew 
him  in  gently,  and  pointed  to  the  soldier  of  life,  "  learning 
what  was  not  impossible,"  from  the  unerring  Order-Book. 

Lord  Castleton  gazed  with  a  changing  countenance,  and, 
without  disturbing  my  uncle,  stole  back.  I  followed  him,  and 
gently  closed  the  door. 

"  You  must  save  his  son,"  he  said,  in  a  faltering  voice — 
**  you  must ;  and  tell  me  how  to  help  you.  That  sight ! — no 
sermon  ever  touched  me  more.  Now  come  down  and  receive 
Lady  EUinor's  thanks.  We  are  going.  She  wants  me  to  tell 
my  own  tale  to  my  old  friend,  Mrs.  Grundy :  so  I  go  with 
them.     Come  ! " 

On  entering  the  sitting-room.  Lady  EUinor  came  up  and 
fairly  embraced  me.  I  need  not  repeat  her  thanks,  still  less 
the  praises,  which  fell  cold  and  hollow  upon  my  ear.  My  gaze 
rested  on  Fanny  where  she  stood  apart — her  eyes,  heavy  with 
fresh  tears,  bent  on  the  ground.  And  the  sense  of  all  her 
charms — the  memory  of  the  tender,  exquisite  kindness  she  had 
shown  to  the  stricken  father ;  the  generous  pardon  she  had 
extended  to  the  criminal  son  ;  the  looks  she  had  bent  upon 
me  on  that  memorable  night — looks  that  had  spoken  such 
trust  in  my  presence — the  moment  in  which  she  had  clung  to 
me  for  protection,  and  her  breath  been  warm  upon  my  cheek — 
all  these  rushed  over  me  ;  and  I  felt  that  the  struggle  of  months 
was  undone ;  that  I  had  never  loved  her  as  I  loved  her  then, 
when  I  saw  her  but  to  lose  her  evermore !  And  then  there 
came  for  the  first,  and,  I  now  rejoice  to  think,  for  the  only 


THE    CAXTONS.  369 

time,  a  bitter,  ungrateful  accusation  against  the  cruelty  of  for- 
tune and  ihe  disparities  of  life.  What  was  it  that  set  our  two 
hearts  eternally  apart,  and  made  hope  impossible  ?  Not  nature, 
but  the  fortune  that  gives  a  second  nature  to  the  world.  Ah, 
could  I  then  think  that  it  is  in  that  second  nature  that  the  soul 
is  ordained  to  seek  its  trials,  and  that  the  elements  of  human 
virtue  find  their  harmonious  place  !  What  I  answered  I  know 
not.  Neither  know  I  how  long  I  stood  there  listening  to 
sounds  which  seemed  to  have  no  meaning,  till  there  came 
other  sounds  which  indeed  woke  my  sense,  and  made  my 
blood  run  cold  to  hear, — the  tramp  of  the  horses,  the  grating 
of  the  wheels,  the  voice  at  the  door  that  said  :  "  All  was 
ready." 

Then  Fanny  lifted  her  eyes  and  they  met  mine ;  and 
then  involuntarily  and  hastily  she  moved  a  few  steps  towards 
me,  and  I  clasped  my  right  hand  to  my  heart,  as  if  to  still 
its  beating,  and  remained  still.  Lord  Castleton  had  watched 
us  both.  I  felt  that  watch  was  upon  us,  though  I  had  til; 
then  shunned  his  looks  :  now,  as  I  turned  my  eyes  from  Fanny's, 
that  look  came  full  upon  me — soft,  compassionate,  benignant. 
Suddenly,  and  with  an  unutterable  expression  of  nobleness, 
the  Marquis  turned  to  Lady  EUinor,  and  said  :  "  Pardon  me 
for  telling  you  an  old  story.  A  friend  of  mine — a  man  of  my 
own  years — had  the  temerity  to  hope  that  he  might  one  day 
or  other  win  the  affections  of  a  lady  young  enough  to  be  his 
daughter,  and  whom  circumstances  and  his  own  heart  led  him  to 
prefer  from  all  her  sex.  My  friend  had  many  rivals  ;  and  you 
will  not  wonder — for  you  have  seen  the  lady.  Among  them 
was  a  young  gentleman,  who  for  months  had  been  an  inmate 
of  the  same  house  (Hush,  Lady  Ellinor  !  you  will  hear  me 
out ;  the  interest  of  my  story  is  to  come) — who  respected  the 
sanctity  of  the  house  he  had  entered,  and  had  left  it  when  he  felt 
he  loved,  for  he  was  poor  and  the  lady  rich.  Some  time  after, 
this  gentleman  saved  the  lady  from  a  great  danger,  and  was 
then  on  the  eve  of  leaving  England  (Hush  !  again — hush  !)^ 
My  friend  was  present  when  these  two  young  persons  met, 
before  the  probable  absence  of  many  years,  and  so  was  the 
mother  of  the  lady  to  whose  hand  he  still  hoped  one  day  to  aspire. 
He  saw  that  his  young  rival  wished  to  say,  '  Farewell  ! '  and 
without  a  witness  ;  that  farewell  was  all  that  his  honor  and  his 
reason  could  suffer  him  to  say.  My  friend  saw  that  the  lady 
felt  the  natural  gratitude  for  a  great  service,  and  the  natural 
pity  for  a  generous  and  unfortunate  affection  ;  for  so,  Lady 
EUinor,  he  only  interpreted  the  sob  that    reached  his  ear^ 


370  THE  CAXTONS. 

What  think  you  my  friend  did  ?  Your  high  mind  at  once  con- 
jectures. He  said  to  himself  :  *  If  I  am  ever  to  be  blest  with 
the  heart  which,  in  spite  of  disparity  of  years,  I  yet  hope  to 
win,  let  me  show  how  entire  is  the  trust  that  I  place  in  its 
integrity  and  innocence  :  let  the  romance  of  first  youth  be 
closed — the  farewell  of  pure  hearts  be  spoken — unimbittered 
by  the  idle  jealousies  of  one  mean  suspicion.'  With  that 
thought,  which  ^y^a,  Lady  Ellinor,  will  never  stoop  to  blame, 
he  placed  his  hand  on  that  of  the  noble  mother,  drew  her  gently 
towards  the  door,  and  calmly  confident  of  the  result,  left  these 
two  young  natures  to  the  unwitnessed  impulse  of  maiden  honor 
and  manly  duty." 

All  this  was  said  and  done  with  a  grace  and  earnestness 
that  thrilled  the  listeners  :  word  and  action  suited  to  each  with 
so  inimitable  a  harmony,  that  the  spell  was  not  broken  till  the 
voice  ceased  and  the  door  closed. 

That  mournful  bliss  for  which  I  had  so  pined  was  vouch- 
safed  :  1  was  alone  with  her  to  whom,  indeed,  honor  and 
reason  forbade  me  to  say  more  than  the  last  farewell. 

It  was  some  time  before  we  recovered — before  we  felt  that 
we  were  alone. 

Oh,  ye  moments,  that  I  can  now  recall  with  so  little  sadness 
in  the  mellow  and  sweet  remembrance,  rest  ever  holy  and 
undisclosed  in  the  solemn  recesses  of  the  heart.  Yes  ! — what- 
ever confession  of  weakness  was  interchanged,  we  were  not 
unworthy  of  the  trust  that  permitted  the  mournful  consolation 
of  the  parting.  No  trite  love-tale — with  vows  not  to  be  ful- 
filled, and  hopes  that  the  future  must  belie — mocked  the  reali- 
ties of  the  life  that  lay  before  us.  Yet  on  the  confines  of  the 
dream  we  saw  the  day  rising  cold  upon  the  world  :  and  if — 
children  as  we  well-nigh  were — we  shrunk  somewhat  from  the 
light,  we  did  not  blaspheme  the  sun,  and  cry,  "  There  is  dark- 
ness in  the  dawn  !  " 

All  that  we  attempted  was  to  comfort  and  strengthen  each 
other  for  that  which  must  be  :  not  seeking  to  conceal  the  grief 
we  felt,  but  promising,  with  simple  faith,  to  struggle  against 
the  grief.  If  vow  were  pledged  between  us — that  was  the 
vow — each  for  the  other's  sake  would  strive  to  enjoy  the  bless- 
ings Heaven  left  us  still.  Well  may  I  say  that  we  were  chil- 
dren !  I  know  not,  in  the  broken  words  that  passed  between 
us,  in  the  sorrowful  hearts  which  those  words  revealed — I 
know  not  if  there  were  that  which  they  who  own,  in  human 
passion,  but  the  storm  and  the  whirlwind,  would  call  the  love 
of  maturer  years — the  love  that  gives  fire  to  the  song,  and 


THE   CAXT0N3.  ^Jt 

tragedy  to  the  stage  ;  but  I  know  that  there  was  neither  a 
word  nor  a  thought  which  made  the  sorrow  of  the  children  a 
rebelUon  to  the  heavenly  Father. 

And  again  the  door  unclosed,  and  Fanny  walked  with  a  firm 
step  to  her  mother's  side,  and,  pausing  there,  extended  her 
hand  to  me,  and  said,  as  I  bent  over  it,  "  Heaven  will  be 
with  you  ! " 

A  word  from  Lady  EUinor ;  a  frank  smile  from  him — the 
rival ;  one  last,  last  glance  from  the  soft  eyes  of  Fanny,  and 
then  Solitude  rushed  upon  me — rushed,  as  something  visible, 
palpable,  overpowering.  I  felt  it  in  the  glare  of  the  sunbeam, 
I  heard  it  in  the  breath  of  the  air  !  like  a  ghost  it  rose  there — 
where  s/ie  had  filled  the  space  with  her  presence  but  a  moment 
before.  A  something  seemed  gone  from  the  universe  forever  ; 
a  change  like  that  of  death  passed  through  my  being ;  and 
when  I  woke  to  feel  that  my  being  lived  again,  I  knew  that  it 
was  my  youth  and  its  poet-land  that  were  no  more,  and  that  I 
had  passed,  with  an  unconscious  step,  which  never  could  re- 
trace its  way,  into  the  hard  world  of  laborious  man  ! 


PART    SIXTEENTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Please,  sir,  be  this  note  for  you  .? "  asked  the  waiter. 

"  For  me — yes  ;  it  is  my  name." 

I  did  not  recognize  the  handwriting,  and  yet  the  note  was 
from  one  whose  writing  I  had  often  seen.  But  formerly  the 
writing  was  cramped,  stiff,  perpendicular  (a  feigned  hand, 
though  I  guessed  not  it  was  feigned)  ;  now  it  was  hasty, 
irregular,  impatient — scarce  a  letter  formed,  scarce  a  word 
that  seemed  finished — and  yet  strangely  legible  withal,  as  the 
handwriting  of  a  bold  man  almost  always  is.  I  opened  the 
note  listlessly  and  read  : 

*'  I^have  watched  for  you  all  the  morning,  I  saw  her  go. 
Well ! — I  did  not  throw  myself  under  the  hoofs  of  the  horses. 
I  write  this  in  a  public-house,  not  far.  Will  you  follow  the 
bearer,  and  see  once  again  the  outcast  whom  all  the  rest  of 
the  world  will  shun  ?  " 

Though  I  did  not  recognize  the  hand,  there  could  be  no 
doubt  who  was  the  writer. 


372  THE  CAXtONi. 

"  The  boy  wants  to  know  if  there's  an  answer,"  said  the 
waiter. 

I  nodded,  took  up  my  hat,  and  left  the  room.  A  ragged 
boy  was  standing  in  the  yard,  and  scarcely  six  words  passed 
between  us,  before  I  was  following  him  through  a  narrow  lane 
that  faced  the  inn,  and  terminated  in  a  turnstile.  Here  the 
boy  paused,  and  making  me  a  sign  to  go  on,  went  back  his 
way  whistling.  I  passed  the  turnstile,  and  found  myself  in  a 
green  field,  with  a  row  of  stunted  willows  hanging  over  a 
narrow  rill.  I  looked  round,  and  saw  Vivian  (as  I  intend  still 
to  call  him)  half  kneeling,  and  seemingly  intent  upon  some 
object  in  the  grass. 

My  eye  followed  his  mechanically.  A  young  unfledged 
bird  that  had  left  the  nest  too  soon,  stood,  all  still  and  alone, 
on  the  bare,  short  sward — its  beak  open  as  for  food,  its  gaze 
fixed  on  us  with  a  wistful  stare.  Methought  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  forlorn  bird  that  softened  me  more  to  the  for- 
lorner  youth,  of  whom  it  seemed  a  type. 

"  Now,"  said  Vivian,  speaking  half  to  himself,  half  to  me, 
"  did  the  bird  fall  from  the  nest,  or  leave  the  nest  at  its  own 
wild  whim  ?  The  parent  does  not  protect  it.  Mind,  I  say 
not  that  it  is  the  parent's  fault — perhaps  the  fault  is  all  with 
the  wanderer.  But  look  you,  though  the  parent  is  not  here, 
the  foe  is  ! — yonder,  see  !  " 

And  the  young  man  pointed  to  a  large  brindled  cat,  that, 
kept  back  from  its  prey  by  our  unwelcome  neighborhood,  still 
remained  watchful,  a  few  paces  off,  stirring  its  tail  gently 
backwards  and  forwards,  and  with  that  stealthy  look  in  its 
round  eyes,  dulled  by  the  sun — half  fierce,  half  frightened — 
which  belongs  to  its  tribe,  when  man  comes  between  the 
devourer  and  the  victim. 

"  I  do  see,"  said  I ;  "but  a  passing  footstep  has  saved  the 
bird." 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Vivian,  laying  my  hand  on  his  own,  and  with 
his  old  bitter  smile  on  his  lips — "  Stop  !  Do  you  think  it  mercy 
to  save  the  bird  ?  What  from  ?  And  what  for  ?  From  a 
natural  enemy — from  a  short  pang,  and  a  quick  death  ? 
Fie  ! — is  not  that  better  than  slow  starvation  ?  Or,  if  you 
take  more  heed  of  it,  than  the  prison-bars  of  a  cage  ?  You 
cannot  restore  the  nest,  you  cannot  recall  the  parent  !  Be 
wiser  in  your  mercy  :  leave  the  bird  to  its  gentlest  fate  !  " 

I  looked  hard  on  Vivian  ;  the  lip  had  lost  the  bitter  smile. 
He  rose  and  turned  away.  I  sought  to  take  up  the  poor  bird, 
but  it  did  not  know  its  friends,  and  ran  from  me,  chirping 


THE    CAXTONS,  373 

ptteously — ran  towards  the  very  jaws  of  the  grim  enemy.  I 
was  only  just  in  time  to  scare  away  the  beast,  which  sprang  up 
a  tree,  and  glared  down  through  the  hanging  boughs.  Then 
I  followed  the  bird,  and,  as  1  followed,  I  heard,  not  knowing 
at  first  whence  the  sound  came,  a  short,  quick,  tremulous  note. 
Was  it  near?  Was  it  far?  From  the  earth?  In  the  sky? 
Poor  parent-bird  !  like  parent-love,  it  seemed  now  far  and 
now  near  ;  now  on  earth,  now  in  sky  ! 

And  at  last,  quick  and  sudden,  as  if  born  of  the  space,  lo  ! 
the  little  wings  hovered  over  me  ! 

The  young  bird  halted,  and  I  also. 

"  Come,"  said  I,  '*  ye  have  found  each  other  at  last ;  settle 
it  between  you  !  " 

I  went  back  to  the  outcast, 

CHAPTER  11. 

PisiSTRATUs. — How  Came  you  to  know  we  had  stayed  in  the 
town  ? 

Vivian. — Do  you  think  I  could  remain  where  you  left  me  ? 
I  wandered  out — wandered  hither.  Passing  at  dawn  through 
yon  streets,  I  saw  the  ostlers  loitering  by  the  gates  of  the 
yard,  overheard  them  talk,  and  so  knew  you  were  all  at  the 
inn — all  !     (He  sighed  heavily.) 

PisiSTRATUS. — Your  poor  father  is  very  ill  !  O  cousin, 
how  could  you  fling  from  you  so  much  love  ! 

Vivian. — Love  ! — his  ! — my  father's  ! 

PisiSTRATUS. — Do  you  really  not  believe,  then,  that  your 
father  loved  you  ? 

Vivian. — If  I  had  believed  it,  I  had  never  left  him  !  All 
the  gold  of  the  Indies  had  never  bribed  me  to  leave  my  mother  ! 

PisiSTRATUS. — This  is  indeed  a  strange  misconception  of 
yours.  If  we  can  remove  it,  all  may  be  well  yet.  Need  there 
now  be  any  secrets  between  us?  (persuasively.)  Sit  down, 
and  tell  me  all,  cousin. 

After  some  hesitation,  Vivian  complied  ;  and  by  the  clear- 
ing of  his  brow,  and  the  very  tone  of  his  voice,  I  felt  sure  that 
he  was  no  longer  seeking  to  disguise  the  truth.  But,  as  I 
afterwards  learned  the  father's  tale  as  well  as  now  the  son's, 
so,  instead  of  repeating  Vivian's  words,  which — not  by  design, 
but  by  the  twist  of  a  mind  habitually  wrong — distorted  the 
facts,  I  will  state  what  appears  to  me  the  real  case,  as  between 
the  parties  so  unhappily  opposed.  Reader,  pardon  me  if  the 
recital  be  tedious.     And  if  thou  thinkest  that  I  bear  not  hard 


374  THE   CAXTONS. 

enough  on  the  erring  hero  of  the  story,  remember  that  he  who 
recites  judges  as  Austin's  son  must  judge  of  Roland's. 

CHAPTER  III. 

VIVIAN. 

AT  THE  ENTRANCE  OF  LIFE  SITS — THE  MOTHER. 

It  was  during  the  war  in  Spain  that  a  severe  wound,  and 
the  fever  which  ensued,  detained  Roland  at  the  house  of  a 
Spanish  widow.  His  hostess  had  once  been  rich  ;  but  her 
fortune  had  been  ruined  in  the  general  calamities  of  the  coun- 
*ry.  She  had  an  only  daughter,  who  assisted  to  nurse  and 
tend  the  wounded  Englishman;  and  when  the  time  approached 
for  Roland's  departure,  the  frank  grief  of  the  young  Ramouna 
betrayed  the  impression  that  the  guest  had  made  upon  her 
affections.  Much  of  gratitude,  and  something,  it  might  be,  of 
an  exquisite  sense  of  honor,  aided,  in  Roland's  breast,  the 
charm  naturally  produced  by  the  beauty  of  his  young  nurse, 
and  the  knightly  compassion  he  felt  for  her  ruined  fortunes 
and  desolate  condition. 

In  one  of  those  hasty  impulses  common  to  a  generous 
nature — and  which  too  often  fatally  vindicate  the  rank  of  Pru- 
dence  amidst  the  tutelary  Powers  of  Life — Roland  committed 
the  error  of  marriage  with  a  girl  of  whose  connections  he  knew 
nothing,  and  of  whose  nature  little  more  than  its  warm,  sponta- 
neous susceptibility.  In  a  few  days  subsequent  to  these  rash 
nuptials,  Roland  rejoined  the  march  of  the  army ;  nor  was  he 
able  to  return  to  Spain  till  after  the  crowning  victory  of 
Waterloo. 

Maimed  by  the  loss  of  a  limb,  and  with  the  scars  of  many  a 
noble  wound  still  fresh,  Roland  then  hastened  to  a  home,  the 
dreams  of  which  had  soothed  the  bed  of  pain,  and  now 
replaced  the  earlier  visions  of  renown.  During  his  absence  a 
son  had  been  born  to  him — a  son  whom  he  might  rear  to  take 
the  place  he  had  left  in  his  country's  service  ;  to  renew,  in 
some  future  fields,  a  career  that  had  failed  the  romance  of  his 
own  antique  and  chivalrous  ambition.  As  soon  as  that  news 
had  reached  him,  his  care  had  been  to  provide  an  English 
nurse  for  the  infant — so  that,  with  the  first  sounds  of  the 
mother's  endearments,  the  child  might  yet  hear  a  voice  from 
the  father's  land.  A  female  relation  of  Bolt's  had  settled  in 
Spain,  and  was  induced  to  undertake  this  duty.  Natural  as 
this  appointment  was  to  a  man  so  devotedly  English,  it  dis- 


THE   CAXTONS.  375 

pleased  his  wild  and  passionate  Ramouna.  She  had  that 
mother's  jealousy,  strongest  in  minds  uneducated  ;  she  had 
also  that  peculiar  pride  which  belongs  to  her  country-people, 
of  every  rank  and  condition  ;  the  jealousy  and  the  pride  were 
both  wounded  by  the  sight  of  the  English  nurse  at  the  child's 
cradle. 

That  Roland,  on  regaining  his  Spanish  hearth,  should  be 
disappointed  in  his  expectations  of  the  happiness  awaiting  him 
there,  was  the  inevitable  condition  of  such  a  marriage  ;  since, 
not  the  less  for  his  military  bluntness,  Roland  had  that  refine- 
ment of  feeling,  perhaps  over-fastidious,  which  belongs  to  all 
natures  essentially  poetic  :  and  as  the  first  illusions  of  love 
died  away,  there  could  have  been  little  indeed  congenial  to  his 
stately  temper  in  one  divided  from  him  by  an  utter  absence  of 
education,  and  by  the  strong,  but  nameless,  distinctions  of 
national  views  and  manners.  The  disappointment,  probably, 
however,  went  deeper  than  that  which  usually  attends  an  ill- 
assorted  union  ;  for,  instead  of  bringing  his  wife  to  his  old 
Tower  (an  expatriation  which  she  would  doubtless  have  resisted 
to  the  utmost),  he  accepted,  maimed  as  he  was,  not  very  long 
after  his  return  to  Spain,  the  offer  of  a  military  post  under 
Ferdinand.  The  Cavalier  doctrines  and  intense  loyalty  of 
Roland  attached  him,  without  reflection,  to  the  service  of  a 
throne  which  the  English  arms  had  contributed  to  establish  ; 
while  the  extreme  unpopularity  of  the  Constitutional  Party  in 
Spain,  and  the  stigma  of  irreligion  fixed  to  it  by  the  priests, 
aided  to  foster  Roland's  belief  that  he  was  supporting  a  beloved 
king  against  the  professors  of  those  revolutionary  and  Jacobini- 
cal doctrines,  which  to  him  were  the  very  atheism  of  politics. 
The  experience  of  a  few  years  in  the  service  of  a  bigot  so 
contemptible  as  Ferdinand,  whose  highest  object  of  patriotism 
was  the  restoration  of  the  Inquisition,  added  another  disappoint- 
ment to  those  which  had  already  embittered  the  life  of  a  man 
who  had  seen  in  the  grand  hero  of  Cervantes  no  follies  to 
satirize,  but  high  virtues  to  imitate.  Poor  Quixote  himself — ■ 
he  came  mournfully  back  to  his  La  Mancha,  with  no  other 
reward  for  his  knight-errantry  than  a  decoration  which  he  dis- 
dained to  place  beside  his  simple  Waterloo  medal,  and  a  grade 
for  which  he  would  have  blushed  to  resign  his  more  modest, 
but  more  honorable,  English  dignity. 

But,  still  weaving  hopes,  the  sanguine  man  returned  to  his 
Penates.  His  child  now  had  grown  from  infancy  into  boy- 
hood— the  child  would  pass  naturally  into  his  care.  Delight- 
ful occupation  !     At  the  thought,  home  smiled  again. 


576  THE    CAXTONS. 

Now,  behold  the  most  pernicious  circumstance  in  this  ill- 
omened  connection. 

The  father  of  Ramouna  had  been  one  of  that  strange  and 
mysterious  race  which  presents  in  Spain  so  many  features 
distinct  from  the  characteristics  of  its  kindred  tribes  in  more 
civilized  lands.  The  Gitano,  or  gypsy  of  Spain,  is  not  the 
mere  vagrant  we  see  on  our  commons  and  roadsides.  Retain- 
ing, indeed,  much  of  his  lawless  principles  and  predatory 
inclinations,  he  lives  often  in  towns,  exercises  various  callings, 
and  not  unfrequently  becomes  rich.  A  wealthy  Gitano  had 
married  a  Spanish  woman  :  *  Roland's  wife  had  been  the 
offspring  of  this  marriage.  The  Gitano  had  died  while 
Ramouna  was  yet  extremely  young,  and  her  childhood  had 
been  free  from  the  influences  of  her  paternal  kindred.  But, 
though  her  mother,  retaining  her  own  religion,  had  brought 
up  Ramouna  in  the  same  faith,  pure  from  the  godless  creed  of 
the  Gitano,  and,  at  her  husband's  death,  had  separated  herself 
wholly  from  his  tribe,  still  she  had  lost  caste  with  her  own  kin 
and  people.  And  while  struggling  to  regain  it,  the  fortune, 
which  made  her  sole  chance  of  success  in  that  attempt,  was 
swept  away,  so  that  she  had  remained  apart  and  solitary,  and 
could  bring  no  friends  to  cheer  the  solitude  of  Ramouna 
during  Roland's  absence.  But,  while  my  uncle  was  still  in 
the  service  of  Ferdinand,  the  widow  died  ;  and  then  the  only 
relatives  who  came  round  Ramouna  were  her  father's  kindred. 
They  had  not  ventured  to  claim  affinity  while  her  mother 
lived  ;  and  they  did  so  now,  by  attentions  and  caresses  to  her 
son.  This  opened  to  them  at  once  Ramouna's  heart  and 
doors.  Meanwhile  the  English  nurse,  who,  in  spite  of  all  that 
could  render  her  abode  odious  to  her,  had,  from  strong  love 
to  her  charge,  stoutly  maintained  her  post,  died,  a  few  weeks 
after  Ramouna's  mother,  and  no  healthful  influence  remained 
to  counteract  those  baneful  ones  to  which  the  heir  of  the 
honest  old  Caxtons  was  subject.  But  Roland  returned  home 
in  a  humor  to  be  pleased  with  all  things.  Joyously  he  clasped 
his  wife  to  his  breast,  and  thought,  with  self-reproach,  that  he 
had  foreborne  too  little,  and  exacted  too  much — he  would  be 
wiser  now.  Delightedly  he  acknowledged  the  beauty,  the 
intelligence,  and  manly  bearing  of  the  boy,  who  played  with 
his  sword-knot,  and  ran  off  with  his  pistols  as  a  prize. 

The  news  of  the  Englishman's  arrival  at  first  kept  the  law- 
less kinsfolk  from  the  house  ;  but  they  were  fond  of  the  boy, 

*  A  Spaniard  very  rarely  indeed  marries  a  Gitana,  or  female  gypsy.     But  occasionally 
(observes  Mr   Borrow)  a  wealthy  Gitano  marries  a  Spanish  female. 


THE   CAXTONS.  377 

and  the  boy  of  them,  and  interviews  between  him  and  tliese 
wild  comrades,  if  stolen,  were  not  less  frequent.  Gradually 
Roland's  eyes  became  opened.  As,  in  habitual  intercourse, 
the  boy  abandoned  the  reserve  which  awe  and  cunning  at  first 
imposed,  Roland  was  inexpressibly  shocked  at  the  bold  prin- 
ciples his  son  affected,  and  at  his  utter  incapacity  even  to 
comprehend  that  plain  honesty  and  that  frank  honor  which,  to 
the  English  soldier,  seemed  ideas  innate  and  heaven-planted. 
Soon  afterwards,  Roland  found  that  a  system  of  plunder  was 
carried  on  in  his  household,  and  tracked  it  to  the  connivance 
of  the  wife  and  the  agency  of  his  son,  for  the  benefit  of  lazy 
bravos  and  dissolute  vagrants.  A  more  patient  man  than 
Roland  might  well  have  been  exasperated,  a  more  wary  man 
confounded,  by  this  discovery.  He  took  the  natural  step — per- 
haps insisting  on  it  too  summarily — perhaps  not  allowing 
enough  for  the  uncultured  mind  and  lively  passions  of  his 
wife — he  ordered  her  instantly  to  prepare  to  accompany  him 
from  the  place,  and  to  abandon  all  communication  with  her 
kindred. 

A  vehement  refusal  ensued  ;  but  Roland  was  not  a  man  to 
give  up  such  a  point,  and  at  length  a  false  submission,  and  a 
feigned  repentance,  soothed  his  resentment  and  obtained  his 
pardon.  They  moved  several  miles  from  the  place  ;  but 
where  they  moved,  there,  some  at  least,  and  those  the  worst,  of 
the  baleful  brood,  stealthily  followed.  Whatever  Ramouna's 
earlier  love  for  Roland  had  been,  it  had  evidently  long  ceased, 
in  the  thorough  want  of  sympathy  between  them,  and  in  that 
absence  which,  if  it  renews  a  strong  affection,  destroys  an 
affection  already  weakened.  But  the  mother  and  son  adored 
each  other  with  all  the  strength  of  their  strong,  wild  natures. 
Even  under  ordinary  circumstances,  the  father's  influence  over 
a  boy  yet  in  childhood  is  exerted  in  vain,  if  the  mother  lend 
herself  to  baffle  it.  And  in  this  miserable  position,  what 
chance  had  the  blunt,  stern,  honest  Roland  (separated  from 
his  son  during  the  most  ductile  years  of  infancy)  against  the 
ascendency  of  a  mother  who  humored  all  the  faults,  and  grati- 
fied all  the  wishes,  of  her  darling  ? 

In  his  despair,  Roland  let  fall  the  threat  that,  if  thus 
thwarted,  it  would  become  his  duty  to  withdraw  his  son  from 
the  mother.  This  threat  instantly  hardened  both  hearts  against 
him.  The  wife  represented  Roland  to  the  boy  as  a  tyrant,  as 
an  enemy  ;  as  one  who  had  destroyed  all  the  happiness  they 
had  before  enjoyed  in  each  other  ;  as  one  whose  severity 
showed  that  he  hated  his  own  child  ;  and  the  boy  believed  her. 


37^  THE   CAXTONS. 

In  his  own  house  a  firm  union  was  formed  against  Roland,  and 
protected  by  the  cunning  which  is  the  force  of  the  weak 
against  the  strong. 

In  spite  of  all,  Roland  could  never  forget  the  tenderness 
with  which  the  young  nurse  had  watched  over  the  wounded 
man,  nor  the  love — genuine  for  the  hour,  though  not  drawn 
from  the  feelings  which  withstand  the  wear  and  tear  of  life — 
that  lips  so  beautiful  had  pledged  him  in  the  bygone  days. 
These  thoughts  must  have  come  perpetually  between  his 
feelings  and  his  judgment,  to  embitter  still  more  his  position, 
to  harass  still  more  his  heart.  And  if,  by  the  strength  of  that 
sense  of  duty  which  made  the  force  of  his  character,  he  could 
have  strung  himself  to  the  fulfilment  of  the  threat,  humanity, 
at  all  events,  compelled  him  to  delay  it — his  wife  promised  to 
be  again  a  mother.  Blanche  was  born.  How  could  he  take 
the  infant  from  the  mother's  breast,  or  abandon  the  daughter 
to  the  fatal  influences  from  which  only,  by  so  violent  an  effort, 
he  could  free  the  son  ? 

No  wonder,  poor  Roland,  that  those  deep  furrows  contracted 
thy  bold  front,  and  thy  hair  grew  gray  before  its  time  ! 

Fortunately,  perhaps,  for  all  parties,  Roland's  wife  died 
while  Blanche  was  .still  an  infant.  She  was  taken  ill  of  a  fever  : 
she  died  delirious,  clasping  her  boy  to  her  breast,  and  praying 
the  saints  to  protect  him  from  his  cruel  father.  How  often 
that  deathbed  haunted  the  son,  and  justified  his  belief  that 
there  was  no  parent's  love  in  the  heart  which  was  now  his  sole 
shelter  from  the  world,  and  the  *'  pelting  of  its  pitiless  rain." 
Again  I  say,  poor,  Roland!  for  I  know  that,  in  that  harsh, 
unloving  disrupture  of  such  solemn  ties,  thy  large,  generous 
heart  forgot  its  wrongs  ;  again  didst  thou  see  tender  eyes 
bending  over  the  wounded  stranger — again  hear  low  murmurs 
breathe  the  warm  weakness  which  the  women  of  the  south 
deem  it  no  shame  to  own.  And  now  did  it  all  end  in  those 
ravings  of  hate,  and  in  that  glazing  gaze  of  terror  ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE     PRECEPTOR. 

Roland  removed  to  France,  and  fixed  his  abode  in  the 
environs  of  Paris.  He  placed  Blanche  at  a  convent  in  the 
immediate  neighborhood,  going  to  see  her  daily,  and  gave  him- 
self up  to  the  education  of  his  son.  The  boy  was  apt  to  learn, 
but  to  unlearn  was  here  the  arduous  task  ;  and  for  that  cask  it 


THE   CAXTONS.  379 

would  have  needed  either  the  passionless  experience,  the  ex- 
quisite forbearance  of  a  practised  teacher,  or  the  love,  and 
confidence,  and  yielding  heart  of  a  believing  pupil.  Roland 
felt  that  he  was  not  the  man  to  be  the  teacher,  and  that  his 
son's  heart  remained  obstinately  closed  to  him.  He  looked 
round,  and  found  at  the  other  side  of  Paris  what  seemed  a 
suitable  preceptor — a  young  Frenchman  of  sojne  distinction  in 
letters,  more  especially  in  science,  with  all  a  Frenchman's  elo- 
quence of  talk,  full  of  high-sounding  sentiments  that  pleased 
the  romantic  enthusiasm  of  the  Captain  ;  so  Roland,  with  san- 
guine hopes,  confided  his  son  to  this  man's  care.  The  boy's 
natural  quickness  mastered  readily  all  that  pleased  his  taste  ; 
he  learned  to  speak  and  write  French  with  rare  felicity  and 
precision.  His  tenacious  memory,  and  those  flexile  organs  in 
which  the  talent  for  languages  is  placed,  served,  with  the  help 
of  an  English  master,  to  revive  his  earlier  knowledge  of  his 
father's  tongue,  and  to  enable  him  to  speak  it  with  fluent  cor- 
rectness— though  there  was  always  in  his  accent  something 
which  had  struck  me  as  strange  ;  but  not  suspecting  it  to  be 
foreign,  I  had  thought  it  a  theatrical  affectation.  He  did  not 
go  far  into  science — little  farther,  perhaps,  than  a  smattering 
of  French  mathematics — but  he  acquired  a  remarkable  facility 
and  promptitude  in  calculation.  He  devoured  eagerly  the 
light  reading  thrown  in  his  way,  and  picked  up  thence  that 
kind  of  knowledge  which  novels  and  plays  afford,  for  good  or 
evil,  according  as  the  novel  or  the  play  elevates  the  under- 
standing and  ennobles  the  passions,  or  merely  corrupts  the 
fancy,  and  lowers  the  standard  of  human  nature.  But  of  all 
that  Roland  desired  him  to  be  taught,  the  son  remained  as 
ignorant  as  before.  Among  the  other  misfortunes  of  this 
ominous  marriage,  Roland's  wife  had  possessed  all  the  super- 
stitions of  a  Roman  Catholic  Spaniard,  and  with  these  the  boy 
had  unconsciously  intermingled  doctrines  far  more  dreary,  im- 
bibed from  the  dark  paganism  of  the  Gitanos. 

Roland  had  sought  a  Protestant  for  his  son's  tutor.  The 
preceptor  was  nominally  a  Protestant — a  biting  derider  of  all 
superstitions  indeed  !  He  was  such  a  Protestant  as  some 
defender  of  Voltaire's  religion  says  the  Great  Wit  would  have 
been  had  he  lived  in  a  Protestant  country.  The  Frenchman 
laughed  the  boy  out  of  his  superstitions,  to  leave  behind 
them  the  sneering  skepticism  of  the  Encyclopedie,  without  those 
redeeming  ethics  on  which  all  sects  of  philosophy  are  agreed, 
but  which,  unhappily,  it  requires  a  philosopher  to  comprehend. 

This  preceptor  was,  doubtless,  not  aware  of  the  mischief  he 


3»0  THE   CAXTONS. 

was  doing  ;  and  for  the  rest,  he  taught  his  pupil  after  his  own 
system — a  mild  and  plausible  one,  very  much  like  the  systenj 
we  at  home  are  recommended  to  adopt :  "  Teach  the  under- 
standing, all  else  will  follow  ";  "  Learn  to  read  something^  and 
it  will  all  come  right ";  "  Follow  the  bias  of  the  pupil's  mind  ; 
thus  you  develop  genius,  not  thwart  it."  Mind,  Understand- 
ing, Genius — fine  things  !  But,  to  educate  the  whole  man, 
you  must  educate  something  more  than  these.  Not  for  want 
of  mind,  understanding,  genius,  have  Borgias  and  Neros  left 
their  names  as  monuments  of  horror  to  mankind.  Where, 
in  all  this  teaching,  was  one  lesson  to  warm  the  heart  and 
guide  the  soul  ? 

Ob,  mother  mine  !  that  the  boy  had  stood  by  thy  knee,  and 
heard  from  thy  lips,  why  life  was  given  us,  in  what  life  shall 
end,  and  how  heaven  stands  open  to  us  night  and  day  !  Oh, 
father  mine  !  that  thou  hadst  been  his  preceptor,  not  in  book- 
learning,  but  the  heart's  simple  wisdom  !  Oh  that  he  had 
learned  from  thee,  in  parables  closed  with  practice,  the  happi- 
ness of  self-sacrifice,  and  how  "  good  deeds  should  repair  the 
bad  "  ! 

It  was  the  misfortune  of  this  boy,  with  his  daring  and  his 
beauty,  that  there  was  in  his  exterior  and  his  manner  that 
which  attracted  indulgent  interest,  and  a  sort  of  compassionate 
admiration.  The  Frenchman  liked  him — believed  his  story — • 
thought  him  ill-treated  by  that  hard-visaged  English  soldier. 
All  English  people  were  so  disagreeable,  particularly  English 
soldiers  ;  and  the  Captain  once  mortally  offended  the  French- 
man by  calling  Vilainton  un  grand  homme,  and  denying,  with 
brutal  indignation,  that  the  English  had  poisoned  Napoleon! 
So,  instead  of  teaching  the  son  to  love  and  revere  his  father, 
the  Frenchman  shrugged  his  shoulders  when  the  boy  broke 
into  some  unfilial  complaint,  and  at  most  said,  "  Mais,  cher 
enfant,  ton  ph-e  est  Anglais — c' est  tout  dire."  Meanwhile,  as  the 
child  sprang  rapidly  into  precocious  youth,  he  was  permitted 
a  liberty  in  his  hours  of  leisure,  of  which  he  availed  himself 
with  all  the  zest  of  his  earlier  habits  and  adventurous  temper. 
He  formed  acquaintances  among  the  loose  young  haunters  of 
caf^s  and  spendthrifts  of  that  capital — the  wits  !  He  became 
an  excellent  swordsman  and  pistol-shot — adroit  in  all  games 
in  which  skill  helps  fortune.  He  learned  betimes  to  furnish 
himself  with  money,  by  the  cards  and  the  billiard-balls. 

But,  delighted  with  the  easy  home  he  had  obtained,  he  took 
care  to  school  his  features  and  smooth  his  manner  in  his 
father's  visits  :  to  make  the  most  of  what  he  had  learned  of 


THE    CAXTONS.  381 

less  ignoble  knowledge,  and,  with  his  characteristic  imitative- 
ness,  to  cite  the  finest  sentiments  he  had  found  in  his  plays 
and  novels.  What  father  is  not  credulous  ?  Roland  believed, 
and  wept  tears  of  joy.  And  now  he  thought  the  time  was 
come  to  take  back  the  boy — to  return  with  a  worthy  heir  to  the 
old  Tower.  He  thanked  and  blessed  the  tutor  ;  he  took  the 
son.  But,  under  pretence  that  he  had  yet  some  things  to 
master,  whether  in  book  knowledge  or  manly  accomplish- 
ments, the  youth  begged  his  father,  at  all  events,  not  yet  to  re- 
turn to  England — to  let  him  attend  his  tutor  daily  for  some 
months.  Roland  consented,  moved  from  his  old  quarters,  and 
took  a  lodging  for  both  in  the  same  suburb  as  that  in  which 
the  teacher  resided.  But  soon,  when  they  were  under  one 
roof,  the  boy's  habitual  tastes,  and  his  repugnance  to  all  pa- 
ternal authority,  were  betrayed.  To  do  my  unhappy  cousin 
justice  (such  as  that  justice  is),  though  he  had  the  cunning  for 
a  short  disguise,  he  had  not  the  hypocrisy  to  maintain  system- 
atic deceit.  He  could  play  a  part  for  a  while,  from  an  exult- 
ing joy  in  his  own  address ;  but  he  could  not  wear  a  mask 
with  the  patience  of  cold-blooded  dissimulation.  Why  enter 
into  painful  details,  so  easily  divined  by  the  intelligent 
reader  ?  The  faults  of  the  son  were  precisely  those  to  which 
Roland  would  be  least  indulgent.  To  the  ordinary  scrapes  of 
high-spirited  boyhood,  no  father,  I  am  sure,  would  have  been 
more  lenient  ;  but  to  anything  that  seemed  low,  petty — that 
grated  on  him  as  a  gentleman  and  soldier — there,  not  for 
worlds  would  I  have  braved  the  darkness  of  his  frown,  and  the 
woe  that  spoke  like  scorn  in  his  voice.  And  when,  after  all 
warning  and  prohibition  were  in  vain,  Roland  found  his  son, 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  in  a  resort  of  gamblers  and 
sharpers,  carrying  all  before  him  with  his  cue,  in  the  full  flush 
of  triumph,  and  a  great  heap  of  five-franc  pieces  before  him 
you  may  conceive  with  what  wrath  the  proud,  hasty,  passion- 
ate man  drove  out,  cane  in  hand,  the  obscene  associates, 
flinging  after  them  the  .son's  ill-gotten  gains  ;  and  with  what 
resentful  humiliation  the  son  was  compelled  to  follow  the 
father  home.  Then  Roland  took  the  boy  to  England,  but  not 
to  the  old  Tower ;  that  hearth  of  his  ancestors  was  still  too 
sacred  for  the  footsteps  of  the  vagrant  heir  ! 


382  THE    CAXTONS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  HEARTH  WITHOUT  TRUST,  AND  THE  WORLD  WITHOUT 

A  GUIDE. 

And  then,  vainly  grasping  at  every  argument  his  blunt 
sense  could  suggest — then  talked  Roland  much  and  grandly  of 
the  duties  men  owed — even  if  they  threw  off  all  love  to  their 
father — still  to  their  father's  name ;  and  then  his  pride, 
always  so  lively,  grew  irritable  and  harsh,  and  seemed,  no 
doubt,  to  the  perverted  ears  of  the  son,  unlovely  and  unloving. 
And  that  pride,  without  serving  one  purpose  of  good,  did  yet 
more  mischief ;  for  the  youth  caught  the  disease,  but  in  a 
wrong  way.     And  he  said  to  himself  : 

"  Ho,  then  my  father  is  a  great  man,  with  all  these  ancestors 
and  big  words  !  And  he  has  lands  and  a  castle — and  yet  how 
miserably  we  live,  and  how  he  stints  me  !  But,  if  he  has  cause 
for  pride  in  all  these  dead  men,  why,  so  have  I.  And  are 
these  lodgings,  these  appurtenances,  fit  for  the  '  gentleman  ' 
he  says  I  am  ? " 

Even  in  England,  the  gypsy  blood  broke  out  as  before,  and 
the  youth  found  vagrant  associates.  Heaven  knows  how  or 
where  ;  and  strange-looking  forms,  gaudily  shabby,  and  dis- 
reputably smart,  were  seen  lurking  in  the  corner  of  the  street, 
or  peering  in  at  the  window,  slinking  off  if  they  saw  Roland — 
and  Roland  could  not  stoop  to  be  a  spy.  And  the  son's  heart 
grew  harder  and  harder  against  his  father,  and  his  father's 
face  now  never  smiled  on  him.  Then  bills  came  in,  and  duns 
knocked  at  the  door.  Bills  and  duns  to  a  man  who  shrunk 
from  the  thought  of  a  debt  as  an  ermine  from  a  spot  on  its 
fur  !  And  the  son's  short  answer  to  remonstrance  was  :  "  Am 
I  not  a  gentleman  ?  These  are  the  things  gentlemen  require." 
Then  perhaps  Roland  remembered  the  experiment  of  his 
French  friend,  and  left  his  bureau  unlocked,  and  said  :  "  Ruin 
me  if  you  will,  but  no  debts.  There  is  money  in  those 
drawers — they  are  unlocked."  That  trust  would  forever  have 
cured  of  extravagance  a  youth  with  a  high  and  delicate  sense 
of  honor  :  the  pupil  of  the  Gitanos  did  not  understand  the 
trust ;  he  thought  it  conveyed  a  natural,  though  ungracious, 
permission  to  take  out  what  he  wanted — and  he  took  !  To 
Roland  this  seemed  a  theft,  and  a  theft  of  the  coarsest  kind  : 
but  when  he  so  said,  the  son  started  indignant,  and  saw  in  that 
which  had  been  so  touching  an  appeal  to  his  honor,  but  a  trap 
to  decoy  him  into  disgrace.     In  short,  neither  could  under- 


THE    CAXTONS.  383 

Stand  the  other.  Roland  forbade  his  son  to  stir  from  the  house ; 
and  the  young  man  the  same  night  let  himself  out,  and  stole  forth 
into  the  wide  world,  to  enjoy  or  defy  it  in  his  own  wild  way. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  follow  him  through  his  various  ad- 
ventures and  experiments  on  fortune  (even  if  I  knew  them  all, 
which  I  do  not).  And  now,  putting  altogether  aside  his  right 
name,  which  he  had  voluntarily  abandoned,  and  not  embar- 
rassing the  reader  with  the  earlier  aliases  assumed,  I  shall  give 
to  my  unfortunate  kinsman  the  name  by  which  I  first  knew 
him,  and  continue  to  do  so  until — Heaven  grant  the  time  may 
come  ! — having  first  redeemed,  he  may  reclaim,  his  own.  It 
was  in  joining  a  set  of  strolling  players  that  Vivian  became 
acquainted  with  Peacock  ;  and  that  worthy,  who  had  many 
strings  to  his  bow,  soon  grew  aware  of  Vivian's  extraordinary 
skill  with  the  cue,  and  saw  therein  a  better  mode  of  making 
their  joint  fortunes  than  the  boards  of  an  itinerant  Thespis 
furnished  to  either.  Vivian  listened  to  him,  and  it  was  while 
their  intimacy  was  most  fresh  that  I  met  them  on  the  highroad. 
That  chance  meeting  produced  (if  I  may  be  allowed  to  believe 
his  assurance)  a  strong,  and,  for  the  moment,  a  salutary  effect 
upon  Vivian.  The  comparative  innocence  and  freshness  of  a 
boy's  mind  were  new  to  him  ;  the  elastic,  healthful  spirits  with 
which  those  gifts  were  accompanied  startled  him,  by  the  con- 
trast to  his  own  forced  gayety  and  secret  gloom.  And  this 
boy  was  his  own  cousin  ! 

Coming  afterwards  to  London,  he  adventured  inquiry  at  the 
hotel  in  the  Strand  at  which  I  had  given  my  address ;  learned 
where  we  were  ;  and,  passing  one  night  into  the  street,  saw  my 
uncle  at  the  window — to  recognize  and  to  fly  from  him.  Hav- 
ing then  some  money  at  his  disposal,  he  broke  off  abruptly 
from  the  set  in  which  he  had  been  thrown.  He  had  resolved 
to  return  to  France ;  he  would  try  for  a  more  respectable 
mode  of  existence.  He  had  not  found  happiness  in  that 
liberty  he  had  won,  nor  room  for  the  ambition  that  began  to 
gnaw  him,  in  those  pursuits  from  which  his  father  had  vainly 
warned  him.  His  most  reputable  friend  was  his  old  tutor ; 
he  would  go  to  him.  He  went ;  but  the  tutor  was  now  married, 
and  was  himself  a  father,  and  that  made  a  wonderful  alteration  in 
his  practical  ethics.  It  was  no  longer  moral  to  aid  the  son  in 
rebellion  to  his  father.  Vivian  evinced  his  usual  sarcastic 
haughtiness  at  the  reception  he  met,  and  was  requested  civilly 
to  leave  the  house.  Then  again  he  flung  himself  on  his  wits 
at  Paris.  But  there  were  plenty  of  wits  there  sharper  than  his 
own.     He  got  into  some  quarrel  with  the  police  ;  not,  indeed, 


384  THE    CAXTONS. 

for  any  dishonest  practices  of  his  own,  but  from  an  unwary 
acquaintance  with  others  less  scrupulous,  and  deemed  it  pru- 
dent to  quit  France.  Thus  had  I  met  him  again,  forlorn  and 
ragged,  in  the  streets  of  London. 

Meanwhile  Roland,  after  the  first  vain  search,  had  yielded  to 
the  indignation  and  disgust  that  had  long  rankled  within  him. 
His  son  had  thrown  off  his  authority,  because  it  preserved  him 
from  dishonor.  His  ideas  of  discipline  were  stern,  and  pa- 
tience had  been  well-nigh  crushed  out  of  his  heart.  He 
thought  he  could  bear  to  resign  his  son  to  his  fate  ;  to  disown 
him,  and  to  say,  "I  have  no  more  a  son."  It  was  in  this 
mood  that  he  had  first  visited  our  house.  But  when,  on  that 
memorable  night  in  which  he  had  narrated  to  his  thrilling 
listeners  the  dark  tale  of  a  fellow-sufferer's  woe  and  crime — 
betraying  in  the  tale,  to  my  father's  quick  sympathy,  his  own 
sorrow  and  passion — it  did  not  need  much  of  his  gentler 
brother's  subtle  art  to  learn  or  guess  the  whole,  nor  much  of 
Austin's  mild  persuasion  to  convince  Roland  that  he  had  not 
yet  exhausted  all  efforts  to  track  the  wanderer  and  reclaim  the 
erring  child.  Then  he  had  gone  to  London ;  then  he  had 
sought  every  spot  which  the  outcast  would  probably  haunt ; 
then  had  he  saved  and  pinched  from  his  own  necessities  to  have 
wherewithal  to  enter  theatres  and  gaming-houses,  and  fee  the 
agencies  of  police  ;  then  had  he  seen  the  form  for  which  he  had 
watched  and  pined,  in  the  street  below  his  window,  and  cried,  in 
a  joyous  delusion  :  "  He  repents  !  "  One  day  a  letter  reached 
my  uncle,  through  his  banker's  from  the  French  tutor  (who 
knew  of  no  other  means  of  tracing  Roland  but  through  the 
house  by  which  his  salary  had  been  paid),  informing  him  of  his 
son's  visit.  Roland  started  instantly  for  Paris.  Arriving 
there,  he  could  only  learn  of  his  son  through  the  police,  and 
from  them  only  learn  that  he  had  been  seen  in  the  company  of 
accomplished  swindlers,  who  were  already  in  the  hands  of 
justice  ;  but  that  the  youth  himself,  whom  there  was  nothing 
to  criminate,  had  been  suffered  to  quit  Paris,  and  had  taken, 
it  was  supposed,  the  road  to  England.  Then,  at  last,  the  poor 
Captain's  stout  heart  gave  way.  His  son  the  companion  of 
swindlers  ! — could  he  be  sure  that  he  was  not  their  accomplice  ? 
If  not  yet,  how  small  the  step  between  companionship  and 
participation  !  He  took  the  child  left  him  still  from  the 
convent,  returned  to  England,  and  arrived  there  to  be  seized 
with  fever  and  delirium — apparently  on  the  same  day  (or  a 
day  before  that  on  which)  the  son  had  dropped,  shelterless 
and  penniless,  on  the  stones  of  London. 


THE    CAXTONS.  385 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  ATTEMPT  TO  BUILD  A  TEMPLE  TO  FORTUNE  OUT  OF 
THE  RUINS  OF  HOME. 

"  But,"  said  Vivian,  pursuing-  his  tale,  "  but  wlien  you  came 
to  my  aid,  not  knowing  me  ;  when  you  reHeved  me  ;  when 
from  your  own  lips,  for  the  first  time,  I  heard  words  that 
praised  me,  and  for  qualities  that  implied  I  might  yet  be 
'  worth  much  ' —  Ah  !  (he  added  mournfully)  I  remember  the 
very  words — a  new  light  broke  upon  me — struggling  and  dim, 
but  light  still.  The  ambition  with  which  1  had  sought  the 
truckling  Frenchman  revived,  and  took  worthier  and  more 
definite  form.  I  would  lift  myself  above  the  mire,  make  a 
name,  rise  in  life  !  " 

Vivian's  head  drooped,  but  he  raised  it  quickly,  and  laughed, 
his  low,  mocking  laugh.  What  follows  of  this  tale  may  be  told 
succinctly.  Retaining  his  bitter  feelings  towards  his  father, 
he  resolved  to  continue  his  incognito  ;  he  gave  himself  a  name 
likely  to  mislead  conjecture,  if  I  conversed  of  him  to  my  family, 
since  he  knew  that  Roland  was  aware  that  a  Colonel  Vivian 
had  been  afflicted  by  a  runaway  son — and,  indeed,  the  talk 
upon  that  subject  had  first  put  the  notion  of  flight  into  his 
own  head.  He  caught  at  the  idea  of  becoming  known  to 
Trevanion  ;  but  he  saw  reasons  to  forbid  his  being  indebted 
to  me  for  the  introduction — to  forbid  my  knowing  where  he 
was  :  sooner  or  later  that  knowledge  could  scarcely  fail  to  end 
in  the  discovery  of  his  real  name.  Fortunately,  as  he  deemed, 
for  the  plans  he  began  to  meditate,  we  were  all  leaving  Lon- 
don— he  should  have  the  stage  to  himself.  And  then  boldly 
he  resolved  upon  what  he  regarded  as  the  master-scheme  of 
life,  viz.,  to  obtain  a  small  pecuniary  independence,  and  to 
emancipate  himself  formally  and  entirely  from  his  father's 
control.  Aware  of  poor  Roland's  chivalrous  reverence  for  his 
name,  firmly  persuaded  that  Roland  had  no  love  for  the  son, 
but  only  the  dread  that  the  son  might  disgrace  him,  he  deter- 
mined to  avail  himself  of  his  father's  prejudices  in  order  to 
effect  his  purpose. 

He  wrote  a  short  letter  to  Roland  (that  letter  which  had 
given  the  poor  man  so  sanguine  a  joy — that  letter  after  reading 
which  he  had  said  to  Blanche,  "  Pray  for  me  "),  stating  simply 
that  he  wished  to  see  his  father  ;  and  naming  a  tavern  in  the 
City  for  the  meeting. 

The  interview  took  place.     And  when  Roland,  love  and  for- 


336  THE   CAXT0N3. 

giveness  in  his  heart,  but  (who  shall  blame  him  ?)  dignity  on 
his  brow  and  rebuke  in  his  eye,  approached,  ready  at  a  word 
to  fling  himself  on  the  boy's  breast,  Vivian,  seeing  only  the 
outer  signs,  and  interpreting  them  by  his  own  sentiments, 
recoiled,  folded  his  arms  on  his  bosom,  and  said  coldly : 
"  Spare  me  reproach,  sir — it  is  unavailing.  I  seek  you  only  to 
propose  that  you  shall  save  your  name  and  resign  your  son." 

Then,  intent  perhaps  but  to  gain  his  object,  the  unhappy 
youth  declared  his  fixed  determination  never  to  live  with  his 
father  ;  never  to  acquiesce  in  his  authority  ;  resolutely  to  pur- 
sue his  own  career,  whatever  that  career  might  be,  explaining 
none  of  the  circumstances  that  appeared  most  in  his  disfavor — 
rather,  perhaps,  thinking  that,  the  worse  his  father  judged  of 
him,  the  more  chance  he  had  to  achieve  his  purpose.  "  All  I 
ask  of  you,"  he  said,  "  is  this  :  Give  me  the  least  you  can 
afford  to  preserve  me  from  the  temptation  to  rob,  or  the  neces- 
sity to  starve  ;  and  I,  in  my  turn,  promise  never  to  molest  you 
in  life,  never  to  degrade  you  in  my  death ;  whatever  my  mis- 
deeds, they  will  never  reflect  on  yourself,  for  you  shall  never 
recognize  the  misdoer  !  The  name  you  prize  so  highly  shall 
be  spared."  Sickened  and  revolted,  Roland  attempted  no 
argument ;  there  was  that  in  the  son's  cold  manner  which  shut 
out  hope,  and  against  which  his  pride  rose  indignant.  A 
meeker  man  might  have  remonstrated,  implored,  and  wept — 
that  was  not  in  Roland's  nature.  He  had  but  the  choice  of 
three  evils,  to  say  to  his  son  :  "  Fool,  I  command  thee  to  follow 
me  I "  or  say  :  ''  Wretch,  since  thou  wouldst  cast  me  off  as  a 
stranger,  as  a  stranger  I  say  to  thee — Go,  starve  or  rob  as 
thou  wilt !  "  or  lastly,  to  bow  his  proud  head,  stunned  by  the 
blow,  and  say  :  "Thou  refusest  me  the  obedience  of  the  son, 
thou  deraandest  to  be  as  the  dead  to  me.  I  can  control  thee 
not  from  vice,  I  can  guide  thee  not  to  virtue.  Thou  wouldst 
sell  me  the  name  I  have  inherited  stainless,  and  have  as  stain- 
less borne.     Be  it  so  ! —     Name  thy  price  !  " 

And  something  like  this  last  was  the  father's  choice. 

He  listened  and  was  long  silent ;  and  then  he  said  slowly  : 
"  Pause  before  you  decide." 

"  I  have  paused  long — my  decision  is  made  !  This  is  the 
last  time  we  meet.  I  see  before  me  now  the  way  to  fortune, 
fairly,  honorably  ;  you  can  aid  me  in  it  only  in  the  way  I  have 
said.  Reject  me  now,  and  the  option  may  never  come  again 
to  either ! " 

And  then  Roland  said  to  himself,  "  I  have  spared  and  saved 
for  this  son ;  what  care  I  for  aught  else  than  enough  to  iiv^ 


THE   CAXTONS.  387 

without  debt,  creep  into  a  corner,  and  await  the  grave  ?  And 
the  more  1  can  give,  why,  the  better  chance  that  he  will  abjure 
the  vile  associate  and  the  desperate  course."  And  so,  out  of 
his  small  income,  Roland  surrendered  to  the  rebel  child  more 
than  the  half. 

Vivian  was  not  aware  of  his  father's  fortune;  he  did  not 
suppose  the  sum  of  two  hundred  pounds  a  year  was  an 
allowance  so  disproportioned  to  Roland's  means :  yet  when 
it  was  named,  even  he  was  struck  by  the  generosity  of  one 
to  whom  he  himself  had  given  the  right  to  say  :  "  I  take 
thee  at  thy  word  ;  'just  enough  not  to  starve' !  *' 

But  then  that  hateful  cynicism,  which,  caught  from  bad  men 
and  evil  books,  he  called  "  knowledge  of  the  world,"  made  him 
think  "it  is  not  for  me,  it  is  only  for  his  name";  and  he  said 
aloud  :  "  I  accept  these  terms,  sir  ;  here  is  the  address  of  a 
solicitor  with  whom  yours  can  settle  them.     Farewell  forever." 

Ai  those  last  words  Roland  started,  and  stretched  out  his 
arms  vaguely  like  a  blind  man.  But  Vivian  had  already 
thrown  open  the  window  (the  room  was  on  the  ground  floor) 
and  sprang  upon  the  sill.  "  Farewell,"  he  repeated  ;  "  tell  the 
world  I  am  dead." 

He  leapt  into  the  street,  and  the  father  drew  in  the  out- 
stretched arms,  smote  his  heart,  and  said  :  "  Well,  then,  my 
task  in  the  world  of  man  is  over  !  I  will  back  to  the  old  ruin — 
the  wreck  t)  the  wre  :ks — and  the  sight  of  tombs  I  have  at  least 
rescued  from  dishonor  shall  comfort  me  for  all !  " 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

THE  RESULTS — PERVERTED  AMBITION — SELFISH  PASSION — THE 
INTELLECT  DISTORTED  BY  THE  CROOKEDNESS  OF  THE 
HEART. 

Vivian's  schemes  thus  prospered.  He  had  an  income  that 
permitted  him  the  outward  appearance  of  a  gentleman — an 
independence  modest,  indeed,  but  independence  still.  We 
were  all  gone  from  London.  One  letter  to  me  with  the  post- 
mark of  the  town  near  which  Colonel  Vivian  lived,  sufficed  to 
comlirm  my  belief  in  his  parentage,  and  in  his  return  to  his 
friends.  He  then  presented  himself  to  Trevanion  as  the  young 
man  whose  pen  I  had  employed  in  the  member's  service  ;  and 
knowing  that  I  had  never  mentioned  his  name  to  Trevanion — 
for,  without  Vivian's  permission,  I  should  not,  considering  his 
apparent  trust  in  me,  have  deemed   myself  authorized  to  do 


388  THE    CAXTONS. 

SO — he  took  that  of  Gower,  which  he  selected,  haphazard, 
from  an  old  Court  Guide,  as  having  the  advantage — in  com- 
mon with  most  names  borne  by  the  higher  nobility  of  En- 
gland— of  not  being  confined,  as  the  ancient  names  of  untitled 
gentlemen  usually  are,  to  the  members  of  a  single  family. 
And  when,  with  his  wonted  adaptability  and  suppleness,  he 
had  contrived  to  lay  aside,  or  smooth  over,  whatever  in  his 
manners  would  be  calculated  to  displease  Trevanion,  and  had 
succeeded  in  exciting  the  interest  which  that  generous  states- 
man always  conceived  for  ability,  he  owned,  candidly,  one 
day,  in  the  presence  of  Lady  EUinor— for  his  experience  had 
taught  him  the  comparative  ease  with  which  the  sympathy  of 
woman  is  enlisted  in  anything  that  appeals  to  the  imagination, 
or  seems  out  of  the  ordinary  beat  of  life — that  he  had  reasons 
for  concealing  his  connections  for  the  present ;  that  he  had 
cause  to  believe  I  suspected  what  they  were,  and,  from  mis- 
taken regard  for  his  welfare,  might  acquaint  his  relations  with 
his  whereabout.  He  therefore  begged  Trevanion,  if  the  latter 
had  occasion  to  write  to  me,  not  to  mention  him.  This  promise 
Trevanion  gave,  though  reluctantly  ;  for  the  confidence  volun- 
teered to  him  seemed  to  exact  the  promise  ;  but  as  he  detested 
mystery  of  ail  kinds,  the  avowal  might  have  been  fatal  to  any 
farther  acquaintance ;  and  under  auspices  so  doubtful,  there 
would  have  been  no  chance  of  his  obtaining  that  intimacy  in 
Trevanion's  house  which  he  desired  to  establish,  but  for  an 
accident  which  at  once  opened  that  house  to  him  almost  as 
a  home. 

Vivian  had  always  treasured  a  lock  of  his  mother's  hair,  cut 
off  on  her  deathbed  ;  and  when  he  was  at  his  French  tutor's, 
his  first  pocket-money  had  been  devoted  to  the  purchase  of  a 
locket,  on  which  he  had  caused  to  be  inscribed  his  own  name 
and  his  mother's.  Through  all  his  wanderings  he  had  worn 
this  relic :  and  in  the  direst  pangs  of  want,  no  hunger  had 
been  keen  enough  to  induce  him  to  part  with  it.  Now,  one 
morning  the  ribbon  that  suspended  the  locket  gave  way,  and 
his  eye  resting  on  the  names  inscribed  on  the  gold,  he  thought, 
in  his  own  vague  sense  of  right,  imperfect  as  it  was,  that  his 
compact  with  his  father  obliged  him  to  have  the  names  erased. 
He  took  it  to  a  jeweller  in  Piccadilly  for  that  purpose,  and 
gave  the  requisite  order,  not  taking  notice  of  a  lady  in  the 
further  part  of  the  shop.  The  locket  was  still  on  the  counter 
after  Vivian  had  left,  when  the  lady  coming  forward  observed 
it,  and  saw  the  names  on  the  surface.  She  had  been  struck 
by  the  peculiar  tone  of  the  voice,  which  she  had  heard  before ; 


THE    CAXTONS.  389 

and  that  very  day  Mr.  Govver  received  a  note  from  Lady  Ellinor 
Trevanion,  requesting  to  see  him.  Much  wondering,  he  went. 
Presenting  him  with  the  locket,  she  said,  smiling  :  "  There  is 
only  one  gentleman  in  the  world  who  calls  himself  De  Caxton, 
unless  it  be  his  son.  Ah  !  1  see  now  why  you  wished  to  con- 
ceal yourself  from  my  friend  Pisistratus.  But  how  is  this  ? 
Can  you  have  any  difference  with  your  father?  Confide  in 
me,  or  it  is  my  duty  to  write  to  him." 

Even  Vivian's  powers  of  dissimulation  abandoned  him, 
thus  taken  by  surprise.  He  saw  no  alternative  but  to  trust 
Lady  Ellinor  with  his  secret,  and  implore  her  to  respect  it. 
And  then  he  spoke  bitterly  of  his  father's  dislike  to  him,  and 
his  own  resolution  to  prove  the  injustice  of  that  dislike  by  the 
position  he  would  himself  establish  in  the  world.  At  present, 
his  father  believed  him  dead,  and  perhaps  was  not  ill-pleased 
to  think  so.  He  would  not  dispel  that  belief,  till  he  could 
redeem  any  boyish  errors,  and  force  his  family  to  be  proud  to 
acknowledge  him. 

Though  Lady  Ellinor  was  slow  to  believe  that  Roland 
could  dislike  his  son,  she  could  yet  readily  belie /e  that  he 
was  harsh  and  choleric,  with  a  soldier's  high  norions  of  disci- 
pline :  the  young  man's  story  moved  her,  his  determination 
pleased  her  own  high  spirit — always  with  a  touch  of  romance 
in  her,  and  always  sympathizing  with  each  desire  of  ambition, 
she  entered  into  Vivian's  aspirations  with  an  alacrity  that  sur- 
prised himself.  She  was  charmed  with  the  idea  of  minister- 
mg  to  the  son's  fortunes,  and  ultimately  reconciling  him  to 
the  father,  through  her  own  agency  ;  it  would  atone  for  any 
fault  of  which  Roland  could  accuse  herself  in  the  old  time. 

She  undertook  to  impart  the  secret  to  Trevanion,  for  she 
would  have  no  secrets  from  him,  and  to  secure  his  acquies- 
cence in  its  concealment  from  all  others. 

And  here  I  must  a  little  digress  from  the  chronological 
course  of  my  explanatory  narrative,  to  inform  the  reader  that, 
when  Lady  Ellinor  had  her  interview  with  Roland,  she  had 
been  repelled  by  the  sternness  of  his  manner  from  divulging 
Vivian's  secret.  But  on  her  first  attempt  to  sound  or  con- 
ciliate him,  she  had  begun  with  some  eulogies  on  Trevanion's 
new  friend  and  assistant,  Mr.  Gower,  and  had  awakened  Ro-. 
land's  suspicions  of  that  person's  identity  with  his  son — sus- 
picions which  had  given  him  a  terrible  interest  in  our  joint 
deliverance  of  Miss  Trevanion.  But  so  heroically  had  the 
poor  soldier  sought  to  resist  his  own  fears,  that  on  the  way  he 
shrank  to  put  to  me  the  questions  that  might  paralyze  the 


39©  THE    CAXTONS. 

energies  which,  whatever  the  answer,  were  then  so  much 
needed.  "  For,"  said  he  to  my  father,  "  I  felt  the  blood  surg- 
ing to  my  temples  ;  and  if  I  had  said  to  Pisistratus  'Describe 
this  man,'  and  by  his  description  I  had  recognized  my  son, 
and  dreaded  lest  I  might  be  too  late  to  arrest  him  from  so 
treacherous  a  crime,  my  brain  would  have  given  way  ;  and 
so  I  did  not  dare  !  " 

I  return  to  the  thread  of  my  story.  From  the  time  that 
Vivian  confided  in  Lady  EUinor,  the  way  was  cleared  to  his 
most  ambitious  hopes  ;  and  though  his  acquisitions  were  not 
sufficiently  scholastic  and  various  to  permit  Trevanion  to 
select  him  as  a  secretary,  yet,  short  of  sleeping  at  the  house, 
he  was  little  less  intimate  there  than  I  had  been. 

Among  Vivian's  schemes  of  advancement,  that  of  winning 
the  hand  and  heart  of  the  great  heiress  had  not  been  one  of 
the  least  sanguine.  This  hope  was  annulled  when,  not  long 
after  his  intimacy  at  her  father's  house,  she  became  engaged 
to  young  Lord  Castleton.  But  he  could  not  see  Miss  Trevan- 
ion with  impunity  (alas  !  who,  with  a  heart  yet  free,  could  be 
insensible  to  attractions  so  winning  ?)  He  permitted  the  love — 
such  love  as  his  wild,  half-educated,  half-savage  nature  acknowl- 
edged— to  creep  into  his  soul — to  master  it ;  but  he  felt  no 
hope,  cherished  no  scheme  while  the  young  lord  lived.  With 
the  death  of  her  betrothed,  Fanny  was  free ;  then  he  began  to 
hope — not  yet  to  scheme.  Accidentally  he  encountered  Pea- 
cock ;  partly  from  the  levity  that  accompanied  a  false  good 
nature  that  was  constitutional  with  him,  partly  from  a  vague 
idea  that  the  man  might  be  useful,  Vivian  established  his  quon- 
dom  associate  in  the  service  of  Trevanion.  Peacock  soon 
gained  the  secret  of  Vivian's  love  for  Fanny,  and,  dazzled  by 
the  advantages  that  a  marriage  with  Miss  Trevanion  would 
confer  on  his  patron,  and  might  reflect  on  himself,  and  de- 
lighted at  an  occasion  to  exercise  his  dramatic  accomplish- 
ments on  the  stage  of  real  life,  he  soon  practised  the  lesson 
that  the  theatres  had  taught  him,  viz.,  to  make  a  sub-intrigue 
between  maid  and  valet  serve  the  schemes  and  insure  the  suc- 
cess of  the  lover.  If  Vivian  had  some  opportunities  to  imply 
his  admiration,  Miss  Trevanion  gave  him  none  to  plead  his 
cause.  But  the  softness  of  her  nature,  and  that  graceful  kind- 
ness which  surrounded  her  like  an  atmosphere,  emanating 
unconsciously  from  a  girl's  harmless  desire  to  please,  tended 
to  deceive  him.  His  own  personal  gifts  were  so  rare,  and,  in 
his  wandering  life,  the  effect  they  had  produced  had  so 
increased  his  reliance  on  them,  that  he  thought  he  wanted  but 


THE   CAXTONS.  39I 

the  fair  opportunity  to  woo  in  order  to  win.  In  this  state  of 
mental  intoxication,  Trevanion  having  provided  for  his  Scotch 

secretary,  took  him  to  Lord  N 's.     His  hostess  was  one  of 

those  middle-aged  ladies  of  fashion,  who  like  to  patronize  and 
bring  forward  young  men,  accepting  gratitude  for  condescen- 
sion, as  a  homage  to  beauty.  She  was  struck  by  Vivian's 
exterior,  and  that  "  picturesque  "  in  look  and  in  manner  which 
belonged  to  him.  Naturally  garrulous  and  indiscreet,  she  was 
unreserved  to  a  pupil  whom  she  conceived  the  whim  to  make 
"a// /a// to  society."  Thus  she  talked  to  him,  among  other 
topics  in  fashion,  of  Miss  Trevanion,  and  expressed  her  belief 
that  the  present  Lord  Castleton  had  always  admired  her  ;  but 
it  was  only  on  his  accession  to  the  marquisate  that  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  marry,  or,  from  his  knowledge  of  Lady 
EUinor's  ambition,  thought  that  the  Marquis  of  Castleton 
might  achieve  the  prize  which  would  have  been  refused  to  Sir 
Sedley  Beaudesert.  Then,  to  corroborate  the  predictions  she 
hazarded,  she  repeated,  perhaps  with  exaggeration,  some  pas- 
sages from  Lord  Castleton's  replies  to  her  own  suggestions  on 
the  subject.  Vivian's  alarm  became  fatally  excited  ;  unregu- 
lated passions  easily  obscured  a  reason  so  long  perverted,  and 
a  conscience  so  habitually  dulled.  There  is  an  instinct  in  all 
intense  affection  (whether  it  be  corrupt  or  pure)  that  usually 
makes  its  jealousy  prophetic.  Thus,  from  the  first,  out  of  all 
the  brilliant  idlers  round  Fanny  Trevanion,  my  jealousy  had 
pre-eminently  fastened  on  Sir  Sedley  Beaudesert,  though,  to 
all  seeming,  without  a  cause.  From  the  same  instinct,  Vivian 
had  conceived  the  same  vague  jealousy — a  jealousy,  in  his 
instance,  coupled  with  a  deep  dislike  to  his  supposed  rival, 
who  had  wounded  his  self-love.  For  the  Marquis,  though  to 
be  haughty  or  ill-bred  was  impossible  to  the  blandness  of  his 
nature,  had  never  shown  to  Vivian  the  genial  courtesies  he 
had  lavished  upon  me,  and  kept  politely  aloof  from  his 
acquaintance  ;  while  Vivian's  personal  vanity  had  been 
wounded  by  that  drawing-room  effect  which  the  proverbial 
winner  of  all  hearts  produced  without  an  effort — an  effect 
that  threw  into  the  shade  the  youth  and  the  beauty  (more 
striking  but  infinitely  less  prepossessing)  of  the  adventurous 
rival.  Thus  animosity  to  Lord  Castleton  conspired  with  Viv- 
ian's passion  for  Fanny,  to  rouse  all  that  was  worst  by  nature 
and  by  rearing,  in  this  audacious  and  turbulent  spirit. 

His  confidant.  Peacock,  suggested,  from  his  stage  expe- 
rience, the  outlines  of  a  plot,  to  which  Vivian's  astuter  intellect 
instantly  gave  tangibility  and  coloring.     Peacock  had  already 


^gi  tHE  Caxtons. 

found  Miss  Trevanion's  waiting-woman  ripe  for  any  measure 
that  might  secure  himself  as  her  husband,  and  a  provision  for 
life  as  a  reward.  Two  or  three  letters  between  them  settled 
the  preliminary  engagements.  A  friend  of  the  ex-comedian's 
had  lately  taken  an  inn  on  the  north  road,  and  might  be  relied 
upon.  At  that  inn  it  was  settled  that  Vivian  should  meet  Miss 
Trevanion,  whom  Peacock,  by  the  aid  of  the  abigail,  engaged 
to  lure  there.  The  sole  difficulty  that  then  remained  would, 
to  most  men,  have  seemed  the  greatest,  viz.,  the  consent  of 
Miss  Trevanion  to  a  Scotch  marriage.  But  Vivian  hoped  all 
things  from  his  own  eloquence,  art,  and  passion ;  and  by  an 
inconsistency,  however  strange,  still  not  unnatural  in  the 
twists  of  so  crooked  an  intellect,  he  thought  that,  by  insisting 
on  the  intention  of  her  parents  to  sacrifice  her  youth  to  the 
very  man  of  whose  attractions  he  was  most  jealous — by  the 
picture  of  disparity  of  years,  by  the  caricature  of  his  rival's 
foibles  and  frivolities,  by  the  commonplaces  of  "  beauty  bar- 
tered for  ambition,"  etc.,  he  might  enlist  her  fears  of  the 
alternative  on  the  side  of  the  choice  urged  upon  her.  The 
plan  proceeded,  the  time  came  :  Peacock  pretended  the 
excuse  of  a  sick  relation  to  leave  Trevanion  ;  and  Vivian  a 
day  before,  on  pretence  of  visiting  the  picturesque  scenes  in 
the  neighborhood,  obtained  leave  of  absence.  Thus  the  plot 
went  on  to  its  catastrophe. 

"  And  I  need  not  ask,"  said  I,  trying  in  vain  to  conceal  my 
indignation,  "  how  Miss  Trevanion  received  your  monstrous 
proposition  !  " 

Vivian's  pale  cheek  grew  paler,  but  he  made  no  reply. 

"  And  if  we  had  not  arrived,  what  would  you  have 
done  ?  Oh,  dare  you  look  into  the  gulf  of  infamy  you  have 
escaped  ! 

"  I  cannot,  and  I  will  not  bear  this  !  "  exclaimed  Vivian, 
starting  up.  "  I  have  laid  my  heart  bare  before  you,  and  it  is 
ungenerous  and  unmanly  thus  to  press  upon  its  wounds.  You 
can  moralize,  you  can  speak  coldly — but — I — I  loved  !  " 

"  And  do  you  think,"  I  burst  forth, — "  do  you  think  that  I 
did  not  love  too  ! — love  longer  than  you  have  done  ;  better 
than  you  have  done  ;  gone  through  sharper  struggles,  darker 
days,  more  sleepless  nights,  than  you — and  yet — " 

Vivian  caught  hold  of  me. 

"  Hush  !  "  he  cried  ;  *'  Is  this  indeed  true  !  I  thought  you 
might  have  had  some  faint  and  fleeting  fancy  for  Miss  Tre- 
vanion, but  that  you  curbed  and  conquered  it  at  once.  Oh 
no  !  it  was  impossible  to  have  loved  really  and  to  have  surren- 


THE    CAXTONS.  393 

dered  all  chance  as  you  did  ! — have  left  the  house,  have  fled 
from  her  presence  !     No — no  !  that  was  not  love  !  " 

"  It  was  love  !  and  I  pray  Heaven  to  grant  that,  one  day, 
you  may  know  how  little  your  affection  sprang  from  those 
feelings  which  make  true  love  sublime  as  honor,  and  meek  as 
is  religion  !  Oh  !  cousin,  cousin — with  those  rare  gifts,  what 
you  might  have  been  !  What,  if  you  will  pass  through  repen- 
tance, and  cling  to  atonement — what,  I  dare  hope,  you  may 
yet  be  !  Talk  not  now  of  your  love  ;  I  talk  not  of  mine  ! 
Love  is  a  thing  gone  from  the  lives  of  both.  Go  back  to 
earlier  thoughts,  to  heavier  wrongs  ! — your  father  ! — that 
noble  heart  which  you  have  so  wantonly  lacerated,  which  you 
have  so  little  comprehended  !  " 

Then  with  all  the  warmth  of  emotion  I  hurried  on  ;  showed 
him  thetrue  nature  of  honor  and  of  Roland  (for  the  names  were 
one !)  ;  showed  him  the  watch,  the  hope,  the  manly  anguish  I 
had  witnessed,  and  wept — I,  not  his  son — to  see  ;  showed  him 
the  poverty  and  privation  to  which  the  father,  even  at  the  last, 
had  condemned  himself,  so  that  the  son  may  have  no  excuse 
for  the  sins  that  Want  whispers  to  the  weak.  This,  and  much 
more,  and  I  suppose  with  the  pathos  that  belongs  to  all  earnest- 
ness, I  enforced,  sentence  after  sentence — yielding  to  no  inter- 
ruption, overmastering  all  dissent  !  Driving  in  the  truth,  nail 
after  nail,  as  it  were,  into  the  obdurate  heart,  that  I  constrained 
and  grappled  to.  And  at  last,  the  dark,  bitter,  cynical  nature 
gave  way,  and  the  young  man  fell  sobbing  at  my  feet,  and 
cried  aloud  :  "  Spare  me,  spare  me  !  I  see  it  all  now  !  Wretch 
that  I  have  been  !  " 

CHAPTER  Vni. 

On  leaving  Vivian  I  did  not  presume  to  promise  him 
Roland's  immediate  pardon,  I  did  not  urge  him  to  attempt 
to  see  his  father.  I  felt  the  time  was  not  come  for  either 
pardon  or  interview.  I  contented  myself  with  the  victory  I 
had  already  gained.  I  judged  it  right  that  thought,  solitude, 
and  suffering  should  imprint  more  deeply  the  lesson,  and  pre- 
pare the  way  to  the  steadfast  resolution  of  reform.  I  left  him 
seated  by  the  stream,  and  with  the  promise  to  inform  him  at 
the  small  hostelry,  where  he  took  up  his  lodging,  how  Roland 
struggled  through  his  illness. 

On  returning  to  the  inn,  I  was  uneasy  to  see  how  long  a 
time  had  elapsed  since  I  had  left  my  uncle.  But  on  coming 
into  his  room,  to  my  surprise  and  relief,  I  found  him  up  and 


394  THE   CAXTONS. 

dressed,  and  with  a  serene,  though  fatigued,  expression  of 
countenance.  He  asked  me  no  questions  where  I  had  been — 
perhaps  from  sympathy  with  my  feelings  in  parting  with  Miss 
Trevanion,  perhaps  from  conjecture  that  the  indulgence  of 
those  feelings  had  not  wholly  engrossed  my  time. 

But  he  said  simply  :  "  I  think  I  understood  from  you  that 
you  had  sent  for  Austin — is  it  so  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;    but  I   named ,  as  the  nearest  point  to  the 

Tower,  for  the  place  of  meeting." 

"  Then  let  us  go  hence  forthwith — nay,  I  shall  be  better  for 
the  change.  And  here,  there  must  be  curiosity,  conjecture — 
torture ! " — said  he,  locking  his  hands  tightly  together  : 
"  Order  the  horses  at  once  !  " 

I  left  the  room  accordingly  ;  and  while  they  were  getting 
ready  the  horses,  I  ran  to  the  place  where  I  had  left  Vivian. 
He  was  still  there,  in  the  same  attitude,  covering  his  face  with 
his  hands,  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sun.  I  told  him  hastily  of 
Roland's  improvement,  of  our  approaching  departure,  and 
asked  him  an  address  in  London  at  which  I  could  find  him. 
He  gave  me  as  his  direction  the  same  lodging  at  which  I  had 
so  often  visited  him.  "  If  there  be  no  vacancy  there  for  me," 
said  he,  "  I  shall  leave  word  where  I  am  to  be  found.  But  I 
would  gladly  be  where  I  was  before — "  He  did  not  finish  the 
sentence.     I  pressed  his  hand  and  left  him. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Some  days  have  elapsed  :  we  are  in  London,  my  father  with 
us  ;  and  Roland  has  permitted  Austin  to  tell  me  his  tale,  and 
receive  through  Austin  all  that  Vivian's  narrative  to  me  sug- 
gested, whether  in  extenuation  of  the  past,  or  in  hope  of  re- 
demption in  the  future.  And  Austin  has  inexpressibly  soothed 
his  brother.  And  Roland's  ordinary  roughness  has  gone,  and 
his  looks  are  meek,  and  his  voice  low.  But  he  talks  little,  and 
smiles  never.  He  asks  me  no  questions  ;  does  not  to  me  name 
his  son,  nor  recur  to  the  voyage  to  Australia,  nor  ask  "  why  it 
is  put  off  ";  nor  interest  himself  as  before  in  preparations  for 
it — he  has  no  heart  for  anything. 

The  voyage  is  put  off  till  the  next  vessel  sails,  and  I  have 
seen  Vivian  twice  or  thrice,  and  the  result  of  the  interviews 
has  disappointed  and  depressed  me.  It  seems  to  me  that 
much  of  the  previous  effect  I  had  produced  is  already  oblit- 
erated. At  the  very  sight  of  the  great  Babel — the  evidence  of 
the  ease,  the  luxury,  the  wealth,  the  pomp,  the  strife,  the  pen- 


THE   CAXTONS.  395 

ury,  the  famine,  and  the  rags,  which  the  focus  of  civilization, 
in  the  disparities  of  old  societies,  inevitably  gathers  together — 
the  fierce,  combative  disposition  seemed  to  awaken  again  ;  the 
perverted  ambition,  the  hostility  to  the  world  ;  the  wrath,  the 
scorn  ;  the  war  with  man,  and  the  rebellious  murmur  against 
Heaven.  There  was  still  the  one  redeeming  point  of  repen- 
tance for  his  wrongs  to  his  father — his  heart  was  still  softened 
there  ;  and,  attendant  on  that  softness,  I  hailed  a  principle 
more  like  that  of  honor  than  I  had  yet  recognized  in  Vivian. 
He  cancelled  the  agreement  which  had  assured  him  of  a  pro- 
vision at  the  cost  of  his  father's  comforts.  "At  least,  there," 
he  said,  "  I  will  injure  him  no  more  !  " 

But  while,  on  this  point,  repentance  seemed  genuine,  it  was 
not  so  with  regard  to  his  conduct  towards  Miss  Trevanion. 
His  gypsy  nurture,  his  loose  associates,  his  extravagant  French 
romances,  his  theatrical  mode  of  looking  upon  love  intrigues 
and  stage  plots,  seemed  all  to  rise  between  his  intelligence  and 
the  due  sense  of  the  fraud  and  treachery  he  had  practised. 
He  seemed  to  feel  more  shame  at  the  exposure  than  at  the 
guilt ;  more  despair  at  the  failure  of  success  than  gratitude  at 
escape  from  crime.  In  a  word,  the  nature  of  a  whole  life  was 
not  to  be  remodelled  at  once — at  least  by  an  artificer  so  un- 
skilled as  I. 

After  one  of  these  interviews,  I  stole  into  the  room  where 
Austin  sat  with  Roland,  and,  watching  a  seasonable  m.oment 
when  Roland,  shaking  off  a  revery,  opened  his  Bible  and  sat  down 
to  it,  with  each  muscle  in  his  face  set,  as  I  had  seen  it  before, 
into  iron  resolution,  I  beckoned  my  father  from  the  room. 

PisiSTRATUs. — I  have  again  seen  my  cousin.  I  cannot 
make  the  way  I  wish.     My  dear  father,  you  must  see  him. 

Mr.  Caxton. — I  ?  Yes  assuredly,  if  I  can  be  of  any  ser- 
vice.    But  will  he  listen  to  me  ? 

PisiSTRATUs. — I  think  so.  A  young  man  will  often  respect 
in  his  elder  what  he  will  resent  as  a  presumption  in  his  con- 
temporary. 

Mr.  Caxton. — It  may  be  so  (then  more  thoughtfully)  : 
but  you  describe  this  strange  boy's  mind  as  a  wreck  !  In 
what  part  of  the  mouldering  timbers  can  I  fix  the  grappling 
hook  ?  Here,  it  seems  that  most  of  the  supports  on  which  we 
can  best  rely,  when  we  would  save  another,  fail  us.  Religion, 
honor,  the  associations  of  childhood,  the  bonds  of  home,  filial 
obedience — even  the  intelligence  of  self-interest,  in  the  phil- 
osophical sense  of  the  word.  And  I,  too  ! — a  mere  book- 
man !     My  dear  son  !     I  despair  ! 


396  THE   CAXTONS. 

PisiSTRATUS. — No,  you  do  not  despair — no,  you  must  suc- 
ceed ;  for,  if  you  do  not,  what  is  to  become  of  Uncle  Roland  ? 
Do  you  not  see  his  heart  is  fast  breaking  ? 

Mr.  Caxton. — Get  me  my  hat  ;  I  will  go.  I  will  save  this 
Ishmael — I  will  not  leave  him  till  he  is  saved  ! 

PisiSTRATUS  (some  minutes  after,  as  they  are  walking 
towards  Vivian's  lodgings). — You  ask  me  what  support  you 
are  to  cling  to,     A  strong  and  a  good  one,  sir. 

Mr.  Caxton. — Ah  !  what  is  that  ? 

PisiSTRATUS. — Affection  !  There  is  a  nature  capable  of 
strong  affection  at  the  core  of  this  wild  heart  !  He  could  love 
his  mother  ;  tears  gush  to  his  eyes  at  her  name — he  would 
have  starved  rather  than  part  with  the  memorial  of  that  love. 
It  was  his  belief  in  his  father's  indifference,  or  dislike,  that 
hardened  and  embruted  him  ;  it  is  only  when  he  hears  how 
that  father  loved  him,  that  1  now  melt  his  pride  and  curb  his 
passions.  You  have  affection  to  deal  with  !  Do  you  despair 
now  ? 

My  father  turned  on  me  those  eyes  so  inexpressibly  benign 
and  mild,  and  replied  softly,  "  No  !  " 

We  reached  the  house  ;  and  my  father  said,  as  we  knocked 
at  the  door :  "  If  he  is  at  home  leave  me.  This  is  a  hard 
study  to  which  you  have  set  me  ;    I  must  work  at  it  alone." 

Vivian  was  at  home,  and  the  door  closed  on  his  visitor. 
My  father  stayed  some  hours. 

On  returning  home,  to  my  great  surprise  I  found  Trevanion 
with  my  uncle.  He  had  found  us  out — no  easy  matter,  I 
should  think.  But  a  good  impulse  in  Trevanion  was  not  of 
that  feeble  kind  which  turns  home  at  the  sight  of  difficulty. 
He  had  come  to  London  on  purpose  to  see  and  to  thank  us. 

I  did  not  think  there  had  been  so  much  of  delicacy — of 
what  I  may  call  the  "  beauty  of  kindness  " — in  a  man  whom 
incessant  business  had  rendered  ordinarily  blunt  and  abrupt. 
I  hardly  recognized  the  impatient  Trevanion  in  the  soothing, 
tender,  subtle  respect  that  rather  implied  than  spoke  gratitude, 
and  sought  to  insinuate  what  he  owed  to  the  unhappy  father, 
without  touching  on  his  wrongs  from  the  son.  But  of  this 
kindness,  which  showed  how  Trevanion's  high  nature  of  gentle- 
man raised  him  aloof  from  that  coarseness  of  thought  which 
those  absorbed  wholly  in  practical  affairs  often  contract — of 
this  kindness,  so  noble  and  so  touching,  Roland  seemed 
scarcely  aware.  He  sat  by  the  embers  of  the  neglected  fire, 
his  hands  grasping  the  arms  of  his  elbow-chair,  his  head  droop- 
ing on  his  bosom  ;  and  only  by  a  deep  hectic  fiush  on  his  dark 


1'He  caxtons.  397 

cheek  could  you  have  seen  that  he  distinguished  between  an 
ordinary  visitor  and  the  man  whose  child  he  had  helped  to 
save.  This  minister  of  state,  this  high  member  of  the  elect,  at 
whose  gift  are  places,  peerages,  gold  sticks,  and  ribbons,  has 
nothing  at  his  command  for  the  bruised  spirit  of  the  half-pay 
soldier.  Before  that  poverty,  that  grief,  and  that  pride,  the 
King's  Counsellor  was  powerless.  Only  when  Trevanion  rose 
to  depart,  something  like  a  sense  of  the  soothing  intention  which 
the  visit  implied  seemed  to  rouse  the  repose  of  the  old  man, 
and  to  break  the  ice  at  its  surface  ;  for  he  followed  Trevanion 
to  the  door,  took  both  his  hands,  pressed  them,  then  turned 
away,  and  resumed  his  seat.  Trevanion  beckoned  to  me,  and 
I  followed  him  downstairs,  and  into  a  little  parlor  which  was 
unoccupied. 

After  some  remarks  upon  Roland,  full  of  deep  and  consider- 
ate feeling,  and  one  quick,  hurried  reference  to  the  son — to 
the  effect  that  his  guilty  attempt  would  never  be  known  by  the 
world — Trevanion  then  addressed  himself  to  me  with  a  warmth 
and  urgency  that  took  me  by  surprise.  "  After  what  has 
passed,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  cannot  suffer  you  to  leave  England 
thus.  Let  me  not  feel  with  you,  as  with  your  uncle,  that  there 
is  nothing  by  which  I  can  repay — no,  I  will  not  so  put  it — stay 
and  serve  your  country  at  home  :  it  is  my  prayer,  it  is  EUinor's. 
Out  of  all  at  my  disposal,  it  will  go  hard  but  what  I  shall  find 
something  to  suit  you."  And  then,  hurrying  on,  Trevanion 
spoke  flatteringly  of  my  pretensions,  in  right  of  birth  and  capa- 
bilities, to  honorable  employment,  and  placed  before  me  a  pic- 
ture of  public  life,  its  prizes  and  distinctions,  which,  for  the 
moment  at  least,  made  my  heart  beat  loud  and  my  breath  come 
quick.  But  still,  even  then,  I  felt  (was  it  an  unreasonable 
pride  ?)  that  there  was  something  that  jarred,  something  that 
humbled,  in  the  thought  of  holding  all  my  fortunes  as  a  de- 
pendency on  the  father  of  the  woman  I  loved,  but  might  not 
aspire  to  ; — something  even  of  personal  degradation  in  the 
mere  feeling  that  I  was  thus  to  be  repaid  for  a  service,  and 
recompensed  for  a  loss.  But  these  were  not  reasons  I  could 
advance  ;  and,  indeed,  so  for  the  time  did  Trevanion's  gener- 
osity and  eloquence  overpower  me,  that  I  could  only  falter  out 
my  thanks,  and  my  promise  that  I  would  consider  and  let  him 
know. 

With  that  promise  he  was  forced  to  content  himself  ;  he 
told  me  to  direct  to  him  at  his  favorite  country  seat,  whither 
he  was  going  that  day,  and  so  left  me.  I  looked  round  the 
humble  parlor  of  the  mean  lodging-house,  and   Trevanion's 


39^  THE   CAXTONS. 

words  came  again  before  me  like  a  flash  of  golden  light.  1 
stole  into  the  open  air,  and  wandered  through  the  crowded 
streets,  agitated  and  disturbed, 

CHAPTER  X. 

Several  days  elapsed — and  of  each  day  my  father  spent  a 
considerable  part  at  Vivian's  lodgings.  But  he  maintained  a 
reserve  as  to  his  success,  begged  me  not  to  question  him,  and 
to  refrain  also  for  the  present  from  visiting  my  cousin.  My 
uncle  guessed  or  knew  his  brother's  mission  ;  for  I  observed 
that,  whenever  Austin  went  noiseless  away,  his  eye  brightened, 
and  the  color  rose  in  a  hectic  flush  to  his  cheek.  At  last  my 
father  came  to  me  one  morning,  his  carpet-bag  in  his  hand, 
and  said,  "  I  am  going  away  for  a  week  or  two.  Keep  Roland 
company  till  I  return." 

"  Going  with  him  ?  " 

"With  him." 

"  That  is  a  good  sign." 

"  I  hope  so  :  that  is  all  I  can  say  now." 

The  week  had  not  quite  passed  when  I  received  from  my 
father  the  letter  I  am  about  to  place  before  the  reader,  and 
you  may  judge  how  earnestly  his  soul  must  have  been  in  the 
task  it  had  volunteered,  if  you  observe  how  little,  compara- 
tively speaking,  the  letter  contains  of  the  subtleties  and  pedan- 
tries (may  the  last  word  be  pardoned,  for  it  is  scarcely  a  just 
one)  which  ordinarily  left  my  father,  a  scholar  even  in  the 
midst  of  his  emotions.  He  seemed  here  to  have  abandoned 
his  books,  to  have  put  the  human  heart  before  the  eyes  of  his 
pupil,  and  said  :  "  Read  and  ««-learn  !  " 

To  PiSISTRATUS  CaXTON. 

"  Mv  DEAR  Son  : 

"  It  were  needless  to  tell  you  all  the  earlier  difficulties  I  have 
had  to  encounter  with  my  charge,  nor  to  repeat  all  the  means 
which,  acting  on  your  suggestion  (a  correct  one),  I  have  em- 
ployed to  arouse  feelings  long  dormant  and  confused,  and 
allay  others,  long  prematurely  active  and  terribly  distinct. 
The  evil  was  simply  this  :  here  was  the  intelligence  of  a  man 
in  all  that  is  evil,  and  the  ignorance  of  an  infant  in  all  that  is 
good.  In  matters  merely  worldly,  what  wonderful  acumen  ! 
In  the  plain  principles  of  right  and  wrong,  what  gross  and 
stolid  obtuseness  !  At  one  time,  I  am  straining  all  my  poor 
wit  to  grapple  in  an  encounter  on  the  knottiest  mysteries  of 


THE  Caxtons.  399 

social  life  ;  at  another  I  am  guiding  reluctant  fingers  over  the 
horn-book  of  the  most  obvious  morals.  Here  hieroglyphics, 
and  there  pothooks !  But  as  long  as  there  is  affection  in  a 
man,  why,  there  is  nature  to  begin  with  !  To  get  rid  of  all 
the  rubbish  laid  upon  her,  clear  back  the  way  to  that  Nature, 
and  start  afresh — that  is  one's  only  chance. 

"Well,  by  degrees  I  won  my  way,  waiting  patiently  till  the 
bosom,  pleased  with  the  relief,  disgorged  itself  of  all  '  its  peril- 
ous stuff,'  not  chiding,  not  even  remonstrating,  seeming  almost 
to  sympathize,  till  I  got  him,  Socratically,  to  disprove  himself. 
When  I  saw  that  he  no  longer  feared  me — that  my  company 
had  become  a  relief  to  him — I  proposed  an  excursion,  and  did 
not  tell  him  whither. 

"  Avoiding  as  much  as  possible  the  main  north  road  (for  I 
did  not  wish,  as  you  may  suppose,  to  set  fire  to  a  train  of  as- 
sociations that  might  blow  us  up  to  the  dog-star),  and,  where 
that  avoidance  was  not  possible,  trayelling  by  night,  I  got  him 
into  the  neighborhood  of  the  old  Tower.  I  would  not  admit 
him  under  its  roof.  But  you  know  the  little  inn,  three  miles 
off,  near  the  trout  stream  ?     We  made  our  abode  there. 

"  Well,  I  have  taken  him  into  the  village,  preserving  his  in- 
cognito. I  have  entered  with  him  into  cottages,  and  turned 
the  talk  upon  Roland.  You  know  how  your  uncle  is  adored  ; 
you  know  what  anecdotes  of  his  bold,  warm-hearted  youth 
once,  and  now  of  his  kind  and  charitable  age,  would  spring  up 
from  the  garrulous  lips  of  gratitude  !  I  made  him  see  with 
his  own  eyes,  hear  with  his  own  ears,  how  all  who  knew 
Roland  loved  and  honored  him — except  his  son.  Then  I  took 
him  round  the  ruins  (still  not  suffering  him  to  enter  the 
house),  for  those  ruins  are  the  key  to  Roland's  character ;  seeing 
them,  one  sees  the  pathos  in  his  poor  foible  of  family  pride. 
There,  you  distinguish  it  from  the  insolent  boasts  of  the  pros- 
perous, and  feel  that  it  is  little  more  than  the  pious  reverence 
to  the  dead — 'the  tender  culture  of  the  tomb.'  We  sat  down 
on  heaps  of  mouldering  stone,  and  it  was  there  that  I  ex- 
plained to  him  what  Roland  was  in  youth,  and  what  he  had 
dreamed  that  a  son  would  be  to  him.  I  showed  him  the 
graves  of  his  ancestors,  and  explained  to  him  why  they  were 
sacred  in  Roland's  eyes  !  I  had  gained  a  great  way,  when  he 
longed  to  enter  the  home  that  should  have  been  his  ;  and  I 
could  make  him  pause  of  his  own  accord,  and  say,  *  No,  I  must 
first  be  worthy  of  it.'  Then  you  would  have  smiled — sly 
satirist  that  you  are — to  have  heard  me  impressing  upon  this 
acute,  sharp-witted  youth,  all  that  we  plain  folk  understand 


400  THE    CAXTONS. 

by  the  name  of  home — its  perfect  trust  and  truth,  its  simple 
holiness,  its  exquisite  happiness — being  to  the  world  what 
conscience  is  to  the  human  mind.  And  after  that,  I  brought 
in  his  sister,  whom  till  then  he  had  scarcely  named — for 
whom  he  scarcely  seemed  to  care — brought  her  in  to  aid  the 
father,  and  endear  the  home.  '  And  you  know,*  said  I,  *  that 
if  Roland  were  to  die,  it  would  be  a  brother's  duty  to  supply 
his  place  ;  to  shield  her  innocence — to  protect  her  name  !  A 
good  name  is  something,  then.  Your  father  was  not  so  wrong 
to  prize  it.  You  would  like  yours  to  be  that  which  your  sister 
would  be  proud  to  own  ! ' 

"  While  we  were  talking  Blanche  suddenly  came  to  the  spot, 
and  rushed  to  my  arms.  She  looked  on  him  as  a  stranger  ; 
but  I  saw  his  knees  tremble.  And  then  she  was  about  to  put 
her  hand  in  his — but  I  drew  her  back.  Was  I  cruel  ?  He 
thought  so.  But  when  I  dismissed  her,  I  replied  to  his 
reproach,  '  Your  sister  is  a  part  of  Home.  If  you  think  your- 
self worthy  of  either,  go  and  claim  both  ;  I  will  not  object.' — 
*  She  has  my  mother's  eyes,'  said  he,  and  walked  away.  I 
left  him  to  muse  amidst  the  ruins,  while  I  went  in  to  see  your 
poor  mother,  and  relieve  her  fears  about  Roland,  and  make 
her  understand  why  I  could  not  yet  return  ho7ne. 

"  This  brief  sight  of  his  sister  has  sunk  deep  into  him. 
But  now  I  approach  what  seems  to  me  the  great  difficulty 
of  the  whole.  He  is  fully  anxious  to  redeem  his  name — to 
regain  his  home.  So  far  so  well.  But  he  cannot  yet  see 
ambition,  except  with  hard,  worldly  eyes.  He  still  fancies 
that  all  he  has  to  do  is  to  get  money  and  power,  and  some  of 
those  empty  prizes  in  the  Great  Lottery  which  we  often  win 
more  easily  by  our  sins  than  our  virtues.  (Here  follows  a 
long  passage  from  Seneca,  omitted  as  superfluous.)  He  does 
not  even  yet  understand  me — or,  if  he  does,  he  fancies  me 
a  mere  bookworm  indeed,  when  I  imply  that  he  might  be 
poor,  and  obscure,  at  the  bottom  of  fortune's  wheel,  and  yet 
be  one  we  should  be  proud  of  !  He  supposes  that,  to  redeem 
his  name,  he  has  only  got  to  lacker  it.  Don't  think  me  merely 
the  fond  father,  when  I  add  my  hope  that  I  shall  use  you  to 
advantage  here.  I  mean  to  talk  to  him  to-morrow,  as  we 
return  to  London,  of  you,  and  of  your  ambition  :  you  shall 
hear  the  result. 

"  At  this  moment  (it  is  past  midnight),  I  hear  his  step  in 
the  room  above  me.  The  window-sash  aloft  opens — for  the 
third  time  :  would  to  heaven  he  could  read  the  true  astrology 
of  the  stars  !     There  they  are — bright,   luminous,  benignant. 


THE    CAXTON3.  40t 

And  I  seeking  to  chain  this  wandering  comet  into  the  har- 
monies of  heaven  !  Better  task  than  that  of  astrologers,  and 
astronomers  to  boot !  Who  among  them  can  '  loosen  the  band 
of  Orion  '  ? — but  who  amongst  us  may  not  be  permitted  by 
God  to  have  sway  over  the  action  and  orbit  of  the  human 
soul  ?  Your  ever  affectionate  father, 

"A.  C." 

Two  days  after  the  receipt  of  this  letter  came  the  following  ; 
and  though  I  would  fain  suppress  those  references  to  myself 
which  must  be  ascribed  to  a  father's  partiality,  yet  it  is  so 
needful  to  retain  them  in  connection  with  Vivian,  that  I  have 
no  choice  but  to  leave  the  tender  flatteries  to  the  indulgence 
of  the  kind. 

"  My  dear  Son  :  I  was  not  too  sanguine  as  to  the  effect 
that  your  simple  story  would  produce  upon  your  cousin. 
Without  implying  any  contrast  to  his  own  conduct,  I  described 
that  scene  in  which  you  threw  yourself  upon  our  sympathy,  in 
the  struggle  between  love  and  duty,  and  asked  for  our  counsel 
and  support  ;  when  Roland  gave  you  his  blunt  advice  to  tell 
all  to  Trevanion  ;  and  when,  amidst  such  sorrow  as  the  heart 
in  youth  seems  scarcely  large  enough  to  hold,  you  caught  at 
truth  impulsively,  and  the  truth  bore  you  safe  from  the  ship- 
wreck. I  recounted  your  silent  and  manly  struggles  ;  your 
resolution  not  to  suffer  the  egotism  of  passion  to  unfit  you  for 
the  aims  and  ends  of  that  spiritual  probation  which  we  call 
Life.  1  showed  you  as  you  were,  still  thoughtful  for  us,  inter- 
ested in  our  interests,  smiling  on  us,  that  we  might  not  guess 
that  you  wept  in  secret  !  Oh,  my  son,  my  son  !  do  not  think 
that,  in  those  times,  I  did  not  feel  and  pray  for  you  !  And 
while  he  was  melted  by  my  own  emotion,  I  turned  from  your 
love  to  your  ambition.  I  made  him  see  that  you,  too,  had 
known  the  restlessness  which  belongs  to  young,  ardent 
natures  ;  that  you,  too,  had  your  dreams  of  fortune,  and  aspi- 
rations for  success.  But  I  painted  that  ambition  in  its  true 
colors  :  it  was  not  the  desire  of  a  selfish  intellect,  to  be  in 
yourself  a  somebody — a  something — raised  a  step  or  two  in 
the  social  ladder,  for  the  pleasure  of  looking  down  on  those 
at  the  foot,  but  the  warmer  yearning  of  a  generous  heart  : 
your  ambition  was  to  repair  your  father's  losses,  minister  to 
your  father's  very  foible,  in  his  idle  desire  of  fame,  supply 
to  your  uncle  what  he  had  lost  in  his  natural  heir,  link  your 
success  to  useful  objects,  your  interests  to  those  of  your  kind, 
your  reward  to  the  proud  and  grateful  smiles  of  those  you 


404  THE   CAXTONS. 

loved.  That  was  thine  ambition,  O  my  tender  Anachronism! 
And  when,  as  t  closed  the  sketch,  I  said  :  '  Pardon  me:  you 
know  not  what  delight  a  father  feels,  when,  while  sending  a 
son  away  from  him  into  the  world,  he  can  speak  and  think 
thus  of  him  !  But  this,  you  see,  is  not  your  kind  of  ambition. 
Let  us  talk  of  making  money,  and  driving  a  coach-and-four 
through  this  villanous  world,' — your  cousin  sank  into  a  pro- 
found revery  ;  and  when  he  woke  from  it,  it  was  like  the 
waking  of  the  earth  after  a  night  in  spring — the  bare  trees  had 
put  forth  buds  ! 

"  And,  some  time  after,  he  startled  me  by  a  prayer  that  I 
would  permit  him,  with  his  father's  consent,  to  accompany 
you  to  Australia.  The  only  answer  I  have  given  him  as  yet, 
has  been  in  the  form  of  a  question  :  '  Ask  yourself  if  I  ought  ? 
I  cannot  wish  Pisistratus  to  be  other  than  he  is  ;  and  unless 
you  agree  with  me  in  all  his  principles  and  objects,  ought  I  to 
incur  the  risk  that  you  should  give  him  your  knowledge  of  the 
world,  and  inoculate  him  with  your  ambition  ? '  He  was 
struck,  and  had  the  candor  to  attempt  no  reply. 

"  Now,  Pisistratus,  the  doubt  I  expressed  to  him  is  the 
doubt  I  feel.  For,  indeed,  it  is  only  by  home-truths,  not 
refining  arguments,  that  I  can  deal  with  this  unscholastic 
Scythian,  who,  fresh  from  the  Steppes,  comes  to  puzzle  me  in 
the  Portico." 

"On  the  one  hand,  what  is  to  become  of  him  in  the  Old 
World  ?  At  his  age,  and  with  his  energies,  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  cage  him  with  us  in  the  Cumberland  ruins ;  weariness 
and  discontent  would  undo  all  we  could  do.  He  has  no 
resource  in  books,  and,  I  fear,  never  will  have  !  But  to  send 
him  forth  into  one  of  the  overcrowded  professions,  to  place 
him  amidst  all  those  '  disparities  of  social  life,'  on  the  rough 
stones  of  which  he  is  perpetually  grinding  his  heart;  turn  him 
adrift  amongst  all  the  temptations  to  which  he  is  most  prone — 
this  is  a  trial  which,  I  fear,  will  be  too  sharp  for  a  conversion 
so  incomplete.  In  the  New  World,  no  doubt,  his  energies 
would  find  a  safer  field  ;  and  even  the  adventurous  and 
desultory  habits  of  his  childhood  might  there  be  put  to  health- 
ful account.  Those  complaints  of  the  disparities  of  the 
civilized  world  find,  I  suspect,  an  easier,  if  a  bluffer,  reply 
from  the  political  economist  than  the  Stoic  philosopher. 
*You  don't  like  them,  you  find  it  hard  to  submit  to  them,' 
says  the  political  economist ;  'but 'they  are  the  laws  of  a  civil- 
ized state,  and  you  can't  alter  them.  Wiser  men  than  you 
have  tried  to  alter  them,  and  never  succeeded,  though  they 


IHE   CAXtONS.  465 

tuirned  the  earth  topsy-turvy  !  Very  well ;  but  the  world  is 
wide — go  into  a  state  that  is  not  so  civilized.  'I'he  disparities 
of  the  Old  World  vanish  amidst  the  New  !  Emigration  is  the 
reply  of  Nature  to  the  rebellious  cry  against  Art.'  Thus 
would  say  the  political  economist ;  and,  alas,  even  in  your 
case,  my  son,  I  found  no  reply  to  the  reasonings  !  I  acknowl- 
edge, then,  that  Australia  might  open  the  best  safety-valve  to 
your  cousin's  discontent  and  desires  ;  but  I  acknowledge  also 
a  counter-truth,  which  is  this:  *  It  is  not  permitted  to  an 
honest  man  to  corrupt  himself  for  the  sake  of  others.'  That  is 
almost  the  only  maxim  of  Jean  Jacques  to  which  I  can  cheer- 
fully subscribe  !  Do  you  feel  quite  strong  enough  to  resist 
all  the  influences  which  a  companionship  of  this  kind  may 
subject  you  to — strong  enough  to  bear  his  burthen  as  your 
own — strong  enough,  also — aye,  and  alert  and  vigilant 
enough — to  prevent  those  influences  harming  the  others, 
whom  you  have  undertaken  to  guide,  and  whose  lots  are  con- 
fided to  you  ?  Pause  well,  and  consider  maturely,  for  this 
must  not  depend  upon  a  generous  impulse.  I  think  that  your 
cousin  would  now  pass  under  your  charge  with  a  sincere 
desire  for  reform  ;  but  between  sincere  desire  and  steadfast 
performance  there  is  a  long  and  dreary  interval,  even  to  the 
best  of  us.  Were  it  not  for  Roland,  and  had  I  one  grain  less 
confidence  in  you,  I  could  not  entertain  the  thought  of  laying 
on  your  young  shoulders  so  great  a  responsibility.  But  every 
new  responsibility  to  an  earnest  nature  is  a  new  prop  to 
virtue  ;  and  all  I  now  ask  of  you  is,  to  remember  that  it  is  a 
solemn  and  serious  charge,  not  to  be  undertaken  without  the 
most  deliberate  gauge  and  measure  of  the  strength  with  which 
it  is  to  be  borne. 

"  In  two  days  we  shall  be  in  London. — Yours,  my  Anach- 
ronism, anxiously  and  fondly,  A.  C." 

I  was  in  my  own  room  while  I  read  this  letter,  and  I  had 
jnst  finished  it  when,  as  I  looked  up,  I  saw  Roland  standing 
opposite  to  me.  "  It  is  from  Austin,"  said  he  :  then  he  paused 
a  moment,  and  added,  in  a  tone  that  seemed  quite  humble  : 
"May  I  see  it? — and  dare  I?"  I  placed  the  letter  in  his 
hands,  and  retired  a  few  paces,  that  he  might  not  think  I 
watched  his  countenance  while  he  read  it.  And  I  was  only 
aware  that  he  had  come  to  the  end  by  a  heavy,  anxious,  but 
not  disappointed  sigh.  Then  I  turned,  and  our  eyes  met,  and 
there  was  something  in  Roland's  look,  inquiring,  and,  as  it 
were,  imploring.     I  interpreted  it  at  once. 

"Oh,  yes,  uncle,"  I  said,  smiling^'  "  I  have  reflected,  and  I 


4^4  THE   CAXTONS. 

have  no  fear  of  the  result.  Before  my  father  wrote,  what  he 
now  suggests  had  become  my  secret  wish.  As  for  our  other 
companions,  their  simple  natures  would  defy  all  such  sophis- 
tries as — but  he  is  already  half-cured  of  those.  Let  him  come 
with  me,  and  when  he  returns  he  shall  be  worthy  of  a  place  in 
your  heart,  beside  his  sister  Blanche.  I  feel,  I  promise  it — do 
not  fear  for  me  !  Such  a  change  will  be  a  talisman  to  myself. 
I  will  shun  every  error  that  I  might  otherwise  commit,  so  that 
he  may  have  no  example  to  entice  him  to  err." 

I  know  that  in  youth,  and  the  first  superstition  of  fir  ;t 
love,  we  are  credulously  inclined  to  believe  that  love,  and  the 
possession  of  the  beloved,  are  the  only  happiness.  But  when 
my  uncle  folded  me  in  his  arms,  and  called  me  the  hope  of  his 
age,  and  stay  of  his  house — the  music  of  my  father's  praise 
still  ringing  on  my  heart — I  do  affirm  that  I  knew  a  prouder 
bliss  than  if  Trevanion  had  placed  Fanny's  hand  in  mine,  and 
said  :  "  She  is  yours." 

And  now  the  die  was  cast,  the  decision  made.  It  was  with 
no  regret  that  I  wrote  to  Trevanion  to  decline  his  offers.  Nor 
was  the  sacrifice  was  so  great,  even  putting  aside  the  natural 
pride  which  had  before  inclined  to  it,  as  it  may  seem  to  some ; 
for,  restless  though  I  was,  I  had  labored  to  constrain  myself 
to  other  views  of  life  than  those  which  close  the  vistas  of  am- 
bition with  images  of  the  terrestrial  deities — Power  and  Rank. 
Had  I  not  been  behind  the  scenes,  noted  all  of  joy  and  of 
peace  that  the  pursuit  of  power  had  cost  Trevanion,  and  seen 
how  little  of  happiness  rank  gave  even  to  one  of  the  polished 
habits  and  graceful  attributes  of  Lord  Castleton  ?  Yet  each 
nature  seemed  fitted  so  well — the  first  for  power,  the  last  for 
rank  !  It  is  marvellous  with  what  liberality  Providence  atones 
for  the  partial  dispensations  of  Fortune.  Independence,  or 
the  vigorous  pursuit  of  it  ;  affection,  with  its  hopes  and  its 
rewards ;  a  life  only  rendered  by  Art  more  susceptible  to 
Nature  ;  in  which  the  physical  enjoyments  are  pure  and 
healthful ;  in  which  the  moral  faculties  expand  harmoniously 
with  the  intellectual,  and  the  heart  is  at  peace  with  the  mind  ; 
is  this  a  mean  lot  for  ambition  to  desire — and  is  it  so  far  out 
of  human  reach  ?  **  Know  thyself,"  said  the  old  philosopher. 
"  Improve  thyself,"  saith  the  new.  The  great  object  of  the 
Sojourner  in  Time  is  not  to  waste  all  his  passions  and  gifts  on 
the  things  external,  that  he  must  leave  behind  ;  that  which  he 
cultivates  within  is  all  that  he  can  carry  into  the  Eternal  Pro- 
gress. We  are  here  but  as  schoolboys,  whose  life  begins  where 
school  ends ;  and  the  battles  we  fought  with  our  rivals,  an(} 


THE     CAXTONS.  405 

the  toys  that  we  shared  with  our  playrncttes,  and  the  names 
that  we  carved  high  or  low,  on  the  wall,  above  our  desks — will 
they  so  much  bestead  us  hereafter  ?  As  new  fates  crowd  upon 
us,  can  they  more  than  pass  through  the  memory  with  a  smile 
or  a  sigh  ?     Look  back  to  thy  school  days,  and  answer. 

CHAPTER   XI. 

Two  weeks  since  the  date  of  the  preceding  chapter  have 
passed  ;  we  have  slept  our  last,  for  long  years  to  come,  on  the 
English  soil.  It  is  night — and  Vivian  has  been  admitted  to 
an  interview  with  his  father.  They  have  been  together  alone 
an  hour  and  more,  and  I  and  my  father  will  not  disturb  them. 
But  the  clock  strikes — the  hour  is  late — the  ship  sails  to-night — 
we  should  be  on  board.  And  as  we  two  stand  below,  the  door 
opens  in  the  room  above,  and  a  heavy  step  descends  the  stairs  ; 
the  father  is  leaning  on  the  son's  arm.  You  should  see  how 
timidly  the  .son  guides  the  halting  step.  And  now  as  the  light 
gleams  on  their  faces,  there  are  tears  on  Vivian's  cheek  ;  but 
the  face  of  Roland  seems  calm  and  happy.  Happy  !  when 
about  to  be  separated,  perhaps  forever,  from  his  son  ?  Yes, 
happy,  because  he  has  found  a  son  for  the  first  time  ;  and  is 
not  thinking  of  years  and  absence,  and  the  chance  of  death, 
but  thankful  for  the  Divine  Mercy,  and  cherishing  celestial 
hope.  If  ye  wonder  why  Roland  is  happy  in  such  an  hour, 
how  vainly  have  I  sought  to  make  him  breathe,  and  live,  and 
move  before  you  ! 

We  are  on  board  ;  our  luggage  all  went  first.  I  had  had 
time,  with  the  help  of  a  carpenter,  to  knock  up  cabins  for 
Vivian,  Guy  Bolding,  and  myself,  in  the  hold.  For,  thinking  we 
could  not  too  soon  lay  aside  the  pretensions  of  Europe — ^^  de- 
fine-gentlemanize  "  ourselves,  as  Trevanion  recommended — 
we  had  engaged  steerage  passage,  to  the  great  humoring  of 
our  finances.  We  had,  too,  the  luxury  to  be  by  ourselves,  and 
our  own  Cumberland  folks  were  rop.nd  us,  as  our  friends  and 
servants  both. 

We  are  on  board,  and  have  looked  our  last  on  those  we  are 
to  leave,  and  we  stand  on  deck  leaning  on  each  other.  We 
are  on  board,  and  the  lights,  near  and  far,  shine  from  the  vast 
city ;  and  the  stars  are  on  high,  bright  and  clear,  as  for  the 
first  mariners  of  old.  Strange  noises,  rough  voices,  and  crack- 
ling cords,  and  here  and  there  the  sobs  of  women,  mingling 
with  the  oaths  of  men.     Now  the  swing  and  heave  of  the 


4o6  THE   CAXTONS. 

vessel — the  dreary  sense  of  exile  that  comes  when  the  ship 
fairly  moves  over  the  waters.  And  still  we  stood,  and  looked, 
and  listened ;  silent,  and  leaning  on  each  other. 

Night  deepened,  the  city  vanished — not  a  gleam  from  its 
myriad  lights  !  The  river  widened  and  widened.  How  cold 
comes  the  wind! — is  that  a  gale  from  the  sea?  The  stars 
grow  faint — the  moon  has  sunk.  And  now,  how  desolate  seem 
the  waters  in  the  comfortless  gray  of  dawn !  Then  we 
shivered  and  looked  at  each  other,  and  muttered  something 
that  was  not  the  thought  deepest  at  our  hearts,  and  crept  into 
our  berths — feeling  sure  it  was  not  for  sleep.  And  sleep  came 
on  us,  soft  and  kind.  The  ocean  lulled  the  exiles  as  on  a 
mother's  breast. 


PART   SEVENTEENTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  stage-scene  has  dropped.  Settle  yourselves,  my  good 
audience  ;  chat  each  with  his  neighbor.  Dear  madam,  in  the 
boxes,  take  up  your  opera-glass  and  look  about  you.  Treat 
Tom  and  pretty  Sal  to  some  of  those  fine  oranges,  O  thou 
happy  looking  mother  in  the  two-shilling  gallery  !  Yes,  brave 
'prentice  boys,  in  the  tier  above,  the  cat-call  by  all  means  ! 
And  you,  "  most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  seigneurs,"  in  the 
front  row  of  the  pit — practised  critics  and  steady  old  play- 
goers— who  shake  your  heads  at  new  actors  and  playwrights, 
and,  true  to  the  creed  of  your  youth  (for  the  which  all  honor 
to  you  !)  firmly  believe  that  we  are  shorter  by  the  head  than 
those  giants  our  grandfathers — laugh  or  scold  as  you  will," 
while  the  drop-scene  still  shuts  out  the  stage.  It  is  just  that 
you  should  all  amuse  yourselves  in  your  own  way,  O  specta- 
tors !  for  the  interval  is  long.  All  the  actors  have  to  change 
their  dresses  ;  all  the  scene-shifters  are  at  work,  sliding  the 
"  sides"  of  a  new  world  into  their  grooves  ;  and  in  high  disdain 
of  all  unity  of  time,  as  of  place,  you  will  see  in  the  play-bills 
that  there  is  a  great  demand  on  your  belief.  You  are  called 
upon  to  suppose  that  we  are  older  by  five  years  than  when  you 
last  saw  us  " fret  our  hour  upon  the  stage."  Five  years!  the 
author  tells  us  especially  to  humor  the  belief  by  letting  the 


THE   CAXTONS.  407 

drop-scene  linger  longer  than  usual  between  the  lamps  and 
the  stage. 

Play  up !  O  ye  fiddles  and  kettle-drums !  the  time  is 
elapsed.  Stop  that  cat-call,  young  gentleman  !  Heads  down 
in  the  pit  there  !  Now  the  flourish  is  over — the  scene  draws 
up :  look  before. 

A  bright,  clear,  transparent  atmosphere — bright  as  that  of 
the  East,  but  vigorous  and  bracing  as  the  air  of  the  North  ;  a 
broad  and  fair  river,  rolling  through  wide,  grassy  plains  ; 
yonder,  far  in  the  distance,  stretch  away  vast  forest  of  ever- 
green, and  gentle  slopes  break  the  line  of  the  cloudless  hori- 
zon ;  see  the  pastures.  Arcadian  with  sheep  in  hundreds  and 
thousands — Thyrsis  and  Menalcas  would  have  had  hard  labor 
to  count  them,  and  small  time,  I  fear,  for  singing  songs  about 
Daphne.  But,  alas  !  Daphnes  are  rare  :  no  nymphs  with  gar- 
lands and  crooks  trip  over  those  pastures. 

Turn  your  eyes  to  the  right,  nearer  the  river  ;  just  parted 
by  a  low  fence  from  the  thirty  acres  or  so  that  are  farmed  for 
amusement  or  convenience,  not  for  profit — that  comes  from 
the  sheep — you  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  garden.  Look  not  so 
scornfully  at  the  primitive  horticulture — such  gardens  are  rare 
in  the  Bush.  I  doubt  if  the  stately  King  of  the  Peak  ever 
more  rejoiced  in  the  famous  conservatory,  through  which  you 
may  drive  in  your  carriage,  than  do  the  sons  of  the  Bush  in 
the  herbs  and  blossoms  which  taste  and  breathe  of  the  old 
fatherland.  Go  on,  and  behold  the  palace  of  the  patriarchs — 
it  is  of  wood,  I  grant  you,  but  the  house  we  build  with  our 
own  hands  is  always  a  palace.  Did  you  ever  build  one  when 
you  were  a  boy  ?  And  the  lords  of  that  palace  are  lords  of  the 
land,  almost  as  far  as  you  can  see,  and  of  those  numberless 
flocks  ;  and,  better  still,  of  a  health  which  an  antediluvian 
might  have  envied,  and  of  nerves  so  seasoned  with  horse- 
breaking,  cattle-driving,  fighting  with  wild  blacks — chases 
from  them  and  after  them,  for  life  and  for  death — that  if  any 
passion  vex  the  breast  of  those  kings  of  the  Bushland,  fear 
at  least  is  erased  from  the  list. 

See  here  and  there  through  the  landscape,  rude  huts  like 
the  masters' — wild  spirits  and  fierce  dwell  within.  But  they 
are  tamed  into  order  by  plenty  and  hope  ;  by  the  hand  open 
but  firm,  by  the  eye  keen  but  just. 

Now,  out  from  those  woods,  over  those  green  rolling  plains, 
harum-scarum,  helter-skelter,  long  hair  flying  wild,  and  all 
bearded,  as  a  Turk  or  a  pard,  comes  a  rider  you  recognize. 
The  rider  dismounts,  and  another  old  acquaintance  turns  front 


4C8  THE   CAXTONS. 

a  shepherd,  with  whom  he  has  been  conversing  on  matters  that 
never  plagued  Thyrsis  and  Menalcas,  whose  sheep  seem  to 
have  been  innocent  of  foot-rot  and  scab — and  accosts  the 
horseman. 

PisisTRATUS. — My  dear  Guy,  where  on  earth  have  you 
been  ? 

Guy  (producing  a  book  from  his  pocket,  with  great  tri- 
umph).— There!  Dr.  Johnson's  "  Lives  of  the  Poets."  I  could  not 
get  the  squatter  to  let  me  have  "  Kenilworth,"  though  I  offered 
him  three  sheep  for  it.  Dull  old  fellow,  that  Dr.  Johnson,  I  sus- 
pect  ;  so  much  the  better,  the  book  will  last  all  the  longer. 
And  here's  a  Sydney  paper,  too,  only  two  months  old  !  (Guy 
takes  a  short  pipe,  or  dodeen,  from  his  hat,  in  the  band  of 
which  it  had  been  stuck,  fills  and  lights  it.) 

PisiSTRATUS. — You  must  have  ridden  thirty  miles  at  the 
least.     To  think  oi your  turning  book-hunter,  Guy  ! 

Guy  Bolding  (philosophicall}^). — Ay,  one  don't  know  the 
worth  of  a  thing  till  one  has  lost  it.  No  sneers  at  me,  old  fel- 
low ;  you,  too,  declared  that  you  were  bothered  out  of  your 
life  by  those  books,  till  you  found  how  long  the  evenings  were 
without  them.  Then,  the  first  new  book  we  got — an  old 
volume  of  the  "  Spectator  !  " — such  fun  ! 

PisiSTRATUS. — Very  true.  The  brown  cow  has  calved  in  your 
absence.  Do  you  know,  Guy,  I  think  we  shall  have  no  scab 
in  the  fold  this  year.  If  so,  there  will  be  a  rare  sum  to  lay 
by  !     Things  look  up  with  us  now,  Guy. 

Guy  Bonding. — Yes  !  Very  different  from  the  first  two 
years.  You  drew  a  long  face  then.  How  wise  you  were,  to 
insist  on  our  learning  experience  at  another  man's  station  be- 
fore we  hazarded  our  own  capital !  But,  by  Jove  !  Those 
sheep,  at  first,  were  enough  to  plague  a  man  out  of  his  wits. 
What  with  the  wild  dogs,  just  as  the  sheep  had  been  washed 
and  ready  to  shear  ;  then  that  cursed  scabby  sheep  of  Joe 
Timmes's,  that  we  caught  rubbing  his  sides  so  complacently 
against  our  unsuspecting  poor  ewes.  I  wonder  we  did  not 
run  away.  But  '*  Patie7iHa  fit" — what  is  that  line  in  Horace  ! 
Never  mind  now.  "  It  is  a  long  lane  that  has  no  turning" 
does  just  as  well  as  anything  in  Horace,  and  Virgil  to  boot.  I 
say,  has  not  Vivian  been  here  ? 

PisiSTRATUS. — No  ;  but  he  will  be  sure  to  come  to-day. 

Guy  Bolding. — He  has  much  the  best  berth  of  it.  Horse- 
breeding  and  cattle-feeding  ;  galloping  after  those  wild  devils  ; 
lost  in  a  forest  of  horns ;  beasts  lowing,  scampering,  goring, 
tearing  off  like  mad  buffaloes  ;  horses  galloping  up  hill,  down 


THE   CAXTONS.  409 

hill,  over  rocks,  stones,  and  timber  ;  whips  cracking,  men 
shouting — your  neck  all  but  broken  ;  a  great  bull  making  at 
you  full  rush.  Such  fun  !  Sheep  are  dull  things  to  look  at 
after  a  bull-hunt  and  a  cattle  feast. 

PisiSTRATUS. — Every  man  to  his  taste  in  the  Hush.  One 
may  make  one's  money  more  easily  and  safely,  with  more 
adventure  and  sport,  in  the  bucolic  department.  But  one 
makes  larger  profit  and  quicker  fortune,  with  good  luck  and 
good  care,  in  the  pastoral — and  our  object,  I  take  it,  is  to  get 
back  to  England  as  soon  as  we  can. 

Guv  BoLDiNG. — Humph  !  I  should  be  content  to  live  and 
die  in  the  Bush — nothing  like  it,  if  women  were  not  so  scarce. 
To  think  of  the  redundant  spinster  population  at  home,  and 
not  a  spinster  here  to  be  seen  within  thirty  miles,  save  Bet 
Goggins,  indeed — and  she  has  only  one  eye  !  But  to  return 
to  Vivian — why  should  it  be  our  object,  more  than  his,  to  get 
back  to  England  as  soon  as  we  can  ? 

PisiSTRATUS. — Not  more,  certainly.  But  you  saw  that  an 
excitement  more  stirring  than  that  we  find  in  the  sheep  had 
become  necessary  to  him.  You  know  he  was  growing  dull 
and  dejected  ;  the  cattle  station  was  to  be  sold  a  bargain. 
And  then  the  Durham  bulls,  and  the  Yorkshire  horses,  which 
Mr.  Trevanion  sent  you  and  me  out  as  presents,  were  so  tempt- 
ing, I  thought  we  might  fairly  add  one  speculation  to  another  ; 
and  since  one  of  us  must  superintend  the  bucolics,  and  two  of 
us  were  required  for  the  pastorals,  I  think  Vivian  was  the  best 
of  us  three  to  intrust  with  the  first ;  and,  certainly,  it  has  suc- 
ceeded as  yet. 

Guy. — Why,  yes,  Vivian  is  quite  in  his  element — always  in 
action,  and  always  in  command.  Let  him  be  first  in  every- 
thing, and  there  is  not  a  finer  fellow,  nor  a  better  tempered — 
present  company  excepted.  Hark  !  the  dogs,  the  crack  of  the 
whip  ;  there  he  is.     And  now,  I  suppose,  we  may  go  to  dinner, 

\Ente7-  Vivian. 

His  frame  has  grown  more  athletic  ;  his  eye,  more  steadfast 
and  less  restless,  looks  you  full  in  the  face.  His  smile  is  more 
open  ;  but  there  is  a  melancholy  in  his  expression,  almost 
approaching  to  gloom.  His  dress  is  the  same  as  that  of  Pisis- 
tratus  and  Guy — white  vest  and  trousers  ;  loose  neckcloth, 
rather  gay  in  color  ;  broad  cabbage-leaf  hat ;  his  moustache 
and  beard  are  trimmed  with  more  care  than  ours.  He  has  a 
large  whip  in  his  hand,  and  a  gun  slung  across  his  shoulders. 
Greetings  are  exchanged  ;  mutual  inquiries  as  to  cattle  and 
sheep,  and  the  last  horses  despatched  to  the  Indian  market. 


416  THE   CAXTONS. 

Guy  shows  the  "Lives  of  the  Poets";  Vivian  asks  if  it  is  pos* 
sible  to  get  the  "Life  of  Clive,"  or  "•  Napoleon,"  or  a  copy  of 
"  Plutarch."  Guy  shakes  his  head — says,  if  a  "  Robinson 
Crusoe  "  will  do  as  well,  he  has  seen  one  in  a  very  tattered 
state,  but  in  too  great  request  to  be  had  a  bargain. 

The  party  turn  into  the  hut.  Miserable  animals  are 
bachelors  in  all  countries  ;  but  most  miserable  in  Bushland. 
A  man  does  not  know  what  a  helpmate  of  the  soft  sex  is  in 
the  Old  World,  where  women  seem  a  matter  of  course.  But 
in  the  Bush,  a  wife  is  literally  bone  of  your  bone,  flesh  of  your 
flesh — your  better  half,  your  ministering  angel,  your  Eve  of 
the  Eden — in  short,  all  that  poets  have  sung,  or  young  orators 
say  at  public  dinners,  when  called  upon  to  give  the  toast  of 
"  The  Ladies."  Alas  !  we  are  three  bachelors,  but  we  are 
better  off  than  bachelors  often  are  in  the  bush.  For  the  wife 
of  the  shepherd  I  took  from  Cumberland  does  me  and  Bolding 
the  honor  to  live  in  our  hut,  and  make  things  tidy  and 
comfortable.  She  has  had  a  couple  of  children  since  we 
have  been  in  the  Bush  ;  a  wing  has  been  added  to  the  hut 
for  that  increase  of  family.  The  children,  I  dare  say,  one 
might  have  thought  a  sad  nuisance  in  England,  but  I  declare 
that,  surrounded  as  one  is  by  great  bearded  men  from 
sunrise  to  sunset,  there  is  something  humanizing,  musical, 
and  Christian-like  in  the  very  squall  of  the  baby.  There  it 
goes — bless  it  !  As  for  my  other  companions  from  Cumber- 
land, Miles  Square,  the  most  aspiring  of  all,  has  long  left  me, 
and  is  superintendent  to  a  great  sheep-owner  some  two  hun- 
dred miles  off.  The  Will-o'-the-Wisp  is  consigned  to  the 
cattle  station,  where  he  is  Vivian's  head  man,  finding  time  now 
and  then  to  indulge  his  old  poaching  propensities  at  the  ex- 
pense of  parrots,  black  cockatoos,  pigeons,  and  kangaroos. 
The  shepherd  remains  with  us,  and  does  not  seem,  honest 
fellow,  to  care  to  better  himself ;  he  has  a  feeling  of  clanship, 
which  keeps  down  the  ambition  common  in  Australia.  And 
his  wife — such  a  treasure  !  I  assure  you,  the  sight  of  her 
smooth,  smiling  woman's  face,  when  we  return  home  at  night- 
fall, and  the  very  flow  of  her  gown,  as  she  turns  the  "  dam- 
pers"* in  the  ashes,  and  fills  the  teapot,  have  in  them  some- 
thing holy  and  angelical.  How  lucky  our  Cumberland  swain 
is  not  jealous  !  Not  that  there  is  any  cause,  enviable  dog 
though  he  be  ;  but  where  Desdemonas  are  so  scarce,  if  you 
could  but  guess  how  green-eyed  their  Othellos  generally  are ! 
Excellent  husbands,  it  is  true — none  better;    but   you    had 

*  A  damper  is  a  cake  of  flour  baked  without  yeast,  in  the  ashes. 


THE   CAXTONS.  41I 

better  think  twice  before  you  attempt  to  play  the  Cassio  in 
Bushland  !  There,  however,  she  is,  dear  creature  ! — rattling 
among  knives  and  forks,  smoothing  the  table-cloth,  setting  on 
the  salt  beef,  and  that  rare  luxury  of  pickles  (the  last  pot  in 
our  store),  and  the  produce  of  our  garden  and  poultry-yard, 
which  few  Bushmen  can  boast  of — and  the  dampers,  and  a  pot 
of  tea  to  each  banqueter  ;  no  wine,  beer,  nor  spirits,  those  are 
only  for  shearing-time.  We  have  just  said  grace  (a  fashion 
retained  from  the  holy  mother-country),  when,  bless  my  soul ! 
what  a  clatter  without,  what  a  tramping  of  feet,  what  a  bark- 
ing of  dogs  !  Some  guests  have  arrived.  They  are  always 
welcome  in  Bushland  !  Perhaps  a  cattle-buyer  in  search  of 
Vivian  ;  perhaps  that  cursed  squatter,  whose  sheep  are  always 
migrating  to  ours.  Never  mind,  a  hearty  welcome  to  all — 
friend  or  foe.  The  door  opens;  one,  two,  three  strangers. 
More  plates  and  knives  ;  draw  your  stools  ;  just  in  time.  First 
eat;  then — what  news  ? 

Just  as  the  strangers  sit  down,  a  voice  is  heard  at  the  door ; 

"  You  will  take  particular  care  of  this  horse,  young  man  : 
walk  him  about  a  little  ;  wash  his  back  with  salt  and  water. 
Just  unbuckle  the  saddle-bags  ;  give  them  to  me.  Oh  !  safe 
enough,  I  dare  say — but  papers  of  consequence.  The  pros- 
perity of  the  colony  depends  on  these  papers.  What  would 
become  of  you  all  if  any  accident  happened  to  them,  I  shudder 
to  think." 

And  here,  attired  in  a  twill  shooting-jacket,  budding  with 
gilt  buttons,  impressed  with  a  well-remembered  device ;  a 
cabbage-leaf  hat  shading  a  face  rarely  seen  in  the  Bush — a 
face  smooth  as  razor  could  make  it  :  neat,  trim,  respectable- 
looking  as  ever — his  arm  full  of  saddle-bags,  and  his  nostrils 
gently  distended,  inhaling  the  steam  of  the  banquet,  walks  in — 
Uncle  Jack. 

PisiSTRATUS  (leaping  up.) —  Is  it  possible  ?  You  in  Aus- 
tralia— you  in  the  Bush  ! 

Uncle  Jack,  not  recognizing  Pisistratus  in  the  tall,  bearded 
man  who  is  making  a  plunge  at  him,  recedes  in  alarm,  ex- 
claiming :  "Who  are  you? — never  saw  you  before,  sir!  I 
suppose  you'll  say  next  that  I  oiveyou  something  !" 

Pisistratus. — Uncle  Jack  ! 

Uncle  Jack  (dropping  his  saddle-bags). — Nephew  !  — ■ 
Heaven  be  praised  !     Come  to  my  arms  ! 

They  embrace  ;  mutual  introductions  to  the  company — Mr. 
Vivian,  Mr.  Bolding  on  the  one  side — Major  MacBlarney,  Mr. 
Bullion^  Mr,  Emanuel  Speck,  on  the  other.     Major  MacBlar- 


412  THE    CAXTONS. 

ney  is  a  fine,  portly  man,  with  a  slight  Dublin  brogue,  who 
squeezes  your  hand  as  he  would  a  sponge.  Mr.  Bullion — • 
reserved  and  haughty — wears  green  spectacles,  and  gives  you 
a  forefinger.  Mr.  Emanuel  Speck — unusually  smart  for  the 
Bush,  with  a  blue  satin  stock,  and  one  of  those  blouses  com- 
mon in  Germany,  with  elaborate  hems,  and  pockets  enough 
for  Briareus  to  have  put  all  his  hands  into  at  once — is  thin, 
civil,  and  stoops — bows,  smiles,  and  sits  down  to  dinner  again, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  accustomed  to  attend  to  the  main 
chance. 

Uncle  Jack  (his  mouth  full  of  beef). — Famous  beef  ! — 
breed  it  yourself,  eh  ?  Slow  work  that  cattle-feeding ! 
(Empties  the  rest  of  the  pickle-jar  into  his  plate.)  Must  learn 
to  go  ahead  in  the  New  World — railway  times  these  !  We 
can  put  him  up  to  a  thing  or  two — eh,  Bullion  ?  (Whispering 
me) — Great  capitalist  that  Bullion  !     Look  at  him  ! 

Mr.  Bullion  (gravely). — A  thing  or  two  !  If  he  has  capi- 
tal— you  have  said  it,  Mr.  Tibbets.  (Looks  round  for  the 
pickles — the  green  spectacles  remain  fixed  upon  Uncle  Jack's 
plate.) 

Uncle  Jack. — All  that  this  colony  wants  is  a  few  men  like 
us,  with  capital  and  spirit.  Instead  of  paying  paupers  to 
emigrate,  they  should  pay  rich  men  to  come — eh,  Speck  ? 

While  Uncle  Jack  turns  to  Mr.  Speck,  Mr.  Bullion  fixes  his 
fork  in  a  pickled  onion  in  Jack's  plate,  and  transfers  it  to  his 
own,  observing,  not  as  incidentally  to  the  onion,  but  to  truth 
in  general  :  "  A  man,  gentlemen,  in  this  country,  has  only  to 
keep  his  eyes  on  the  lookout,  and  seize  on  the  first  advan- 
tage ! — resources  are  incalculable  !  " 

Uncle  Jack,  returning  to  the  plate  and  missing  the  onion, 
forestalls  Mr.  Speck  in  seizing  the  last  potato — observing  also, 
and  in  the  same  philosophical  and  generalizing  spirit  as  Mr. 
Bullion  :  "The  great  thing  in  this  country  is  to  be  always 
beforehand  :  discovery  and  invention,  promptitude  and  deci- 
sion ! — that's  your  go.  'Pon  my  life,  one  picks  up  sa<l,  vulgar 
sayings  among  the  natives  here  I — '  that's  your  go  !  '  shocking ! 
What  would  your  poor  father  say  ?  How  is  he — good  Austin  > 
Well  ? — that's  right  :  and  my  dear  sister  ?  Ah,  that  damnable 
Peck  ! — still  harping  on  the  Atiti-Capitalist,  eh  ?  But  I'll 
make  it  up  to  you  all  now.  Gentlemen,  charge  your  glasses — • 
a  bumper-toast. 

Mr.  Speck  (in  an  affected  tone). — I  respond  to  the  senti- 
ment in  a  flowing  cup.     Glasses  are  not  forthcoming. 

Uncle  Jack. — A  bumper-toast  to  the  health  of  the  future 


THE    CAXTONS.  413 

milHonnaire,  whom  I  present  to  you  in  my  nephew  and  sole 
heir — Pisistratus  Caxton,  Esq.  Yes,  gentlemen,  I  here  pub- 
licly announce  to  you  that  this  gentleman  will  be  the  inheritor 
of  all  my  wealth — freehold,  leasehold,  agricultural,  and  min- 
eral ;  and  when  I  am  in  the  cold  grave  (takes  out  his  pocket- 
handkerchief)  and  nothing  remains  of  poor  John  Tibbets,  look 
upon  that  gentleman,  and  say,  "  John  Tibbets  lives  again  !  " 
Mr.  Speck  (chauntingly) — 

"  Let  the  bumper-toast  goround." 

Guy  Bolding. — Hip,  hip,  hurrah  ! — three  times  three  ! 
What  fun  ! 

Order  is  restored  ;  dinner-things  are  cleared ;  each  gentle- 
man lights  his  pipe. 

Vivian. — What  news  from  England  ? 

Mr.  Bullion. — As  to  the  funds,  sir  ? 

Mr.  Speck. — I  suppose  you  mean,  rather,  as  to  the  railways  : 
great  fortunes  will  be  made  there,  sir  ;  but  still  I  think  that 
our  speculations  here  will — 

Vivian. — I  beg  pardon  for  interrupting  you,  sir  ;  but  I 
thought,  in  the  last  papers,  that  there  seemed  something  hos- 
tile in  the  temper  of  the  French.     No  chance  of  a  war  ? 

Major  MacBlarney. — Is  it  the  wars  you'd  be  after,  young 
gintleman  ?  If  me  interest  at  the  Horse  Guards  can  avail  you, 
bedad  !  you'd  make  a  proud  man  of  Major  MacBlarney. 

Mr.  Bullion  (au'thoritatively). — No,  sir,  we  won't  have  a 
war  :  the  capitalists  of  Europe  and  Australia  won't  have  it. 
The  Rothschilds,  and  a  few  others  that  shall  be  nameless,  have 
only  got  to  do  this,  sir  (Mr.  Bullion  buttons  up  his  pockets) — 
and  we'll  do  it  too  ;  and  then  what  becomes  of  your  war,  sir? 
(Mr.  Bullion  snaps  his  pipe  in  the  vehemence  with  which  he 
brings  his  hand  on  the  table,  turns  round  the  green  spectacles, 
and  takes  up  Mr.  Speck's  pipe,  which  that  gentleman  had  laid 
aside  in  an  unguarded  moment.) 

Vivian. — But  the  campaign  in  India? 

Major  MacBlarney.— Oh  ! — and  if  it's  the  Ingees  you'd — 

Bullion  (refilling  Speck's  pipe  from  Guy  Bolding's  exclusive 
tobacco-pouch,  and  interrupting  the  Major). — India — that's 
another  matter  :  I  don't  object  to  that  !  War  there — rather 
good  for  the  money  market  than  otherwise  ! 

Vivian. — What  news  there,  then  ? 

Mr,  Bullion. — Don't  know — haven't  got  India  stock. 

Mr.  Speck. — Nor  I  either.  The  day  for  India  is  over  : 
this  is  our  India  now.     (Misses  his  tobacco-pipe ;  sees  it  ia 


414  THE    CAXTONS. 

Bullion's  mouth,  and  stares  aghast ! — N.  B.  Ths  pipe  is  not  a 
clay  dodeen,  but  a  small  meerschaum — irreplaceable  in  Bush- 
land.) 

PisiSTRATUs. — Well,  uncle,  but  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand 
what  new  scheme  you  have  in  hand.  Something  benevolent, 
I  am  sure — something  for  your  fellow-creatures — for  philan^ 
thropy  and  mankind  ? 

Mr.  Bullion  (starting). — Why,  young  man,  are  you  as 
green  as  all  that  ? 

PisiSTRATUs. — I,  sir — no — Heaven  forbid!  But  my — (Uncle 
Jack  holds  up  his  forefinger  imploringly,  and  spills  his  tea 
over  the  pantaloons  of  his  nephew  !) 

Pisistratus,  wroth  at  the  effect  of  the  tea,  and  therefore 
obdurate  to  the  sign  of  the  forefinger,  continues  rapidly  : 
"But  my  uncle  is!  some  Grand  National-Imperial-Colonial- 
Anti-Monopoly — " 

Uncle  Jack. — Pooh  !  pooh  !     What  a  droll  boy  it  is  ! 

Mr.  Bullion  (solemnly). — With  these  notions,  which  not 
even  in  jest  should  be  fathered  on  my  respectable  and  intelli- 
gent friend  here  (Uncle  Jack  bows),  I  am  afraid  you  will  never 
gee  on  in  the  world,  Mr.  Caxton.  I  don't  think  our  specula- 
tions will  suit  j<7«.'  It  is  growing  late,  gentlemen  :  we  must 
push  on. 

Uncle  Jack  (jumping  up). — And  I  have  so  much  to  say  to 
the  dear  boy.  Excuse  us  :  you  know  the  feelings  of  an  uncle  ! 
(Takes  my  arm,  and  leads  me  out  of  the  hut.) 

Uncle  Jack  (as  soon  as  we  are  in  the  air). — You'll  ruin  us — 
you,  me,  and  your  father  and  mother.  Yes  !  What  do  you 
think  I  work  and  slave  myself  for  but  for  you  and  yours  ? 
Ruin  us  all,  I  say,  if  you  talk  in  that  way  before  Bullion  !  His 
heart  is  as  hard  as  the  Bank  of  England's — and  quite  right  he 
is,  too.  Fellow-creatures  ! — stuff  !  I  have  renounced  that 
delusion — the  generous  follies  of  my  youth  !  I  begin  at  last 
to  live  for  myself — that  is,  for  self  and  relatives  !  I  shall  suc- 
ceed this  time,  you'll  see  ! 

Pisistratus. — Indeed,  uncle,  I  hope  so  sincerely  ;  and,  to 
do  you  justice,  there  is  always  something  very  clever  in  your 
ideas — only  they  don't — 

Uncle  Jack  (interrupting  me  with  a  groan). — The  fortunes 
that  other  men  have  gained  by  my  ideas ! — shocking  to  think 
of  !  What ! — and  shall  I  be  reproached  if  I  live  no  longer  for 
such  a  set  of  thieving,  greedy,  ungrateful  knaves  ?  No,  no  ! 
Number  One  shall  be  my  maxim  ;  and  I'll  make  you  a  Croesus, 
my  boy — I  will. 


THE   CAXTONS.  4^5 

Pisistratus,  after  grateful  acknowledgments  for  all  prospec- 
tive benefits,  inquires  how  long  Jack  has  been  in  Australia  ; 
what  brought  him  into  the  colony  ;  and  what  are  his  present 
views.  Learns,  to  his  astonishment,  that  Uncle  Jack  has  been 
four  years  in  the  colony  ;  that  he  sailed  the  year  after  Pisis- 
tratus— induced,  he  says,  by  that  illustrious  example,  and  by 
some  mysterious  agency  or  commission,  which  he  will  not  ex- 
plain, emanating  either  from  the  Colonial  Office,  or  an  Emigra- 
tion Company.  Uncle  Jack  has  been  thriving  wonderfully 
since  he  abandoned  his  fellow-creatures.  His  first  speculation, 
on  arriving  at  the  colony,  was  in  buying  some  houses  in  Syd- 
ney, which  (by  those  fluctuations  in  prices  common  to  the 
extremes  of  the  colonial  mind — which  is  one  while  skipping 
up  the  rainbow  with  Hope,  and  at  another  plunging  into  Ache- 
rontian  al^ysses  with  Despair)  he  bought  excessively  cheap, 
and  sold  excessively  dear.  But  his  grand  experiment  has  been 
in  connection  with  the  infant  settlement  of  Adelaide,  of  which 
he  considers  himself  one  of  the  first  founders  ;  and  as,  in  the 
rush  of  emigration  which  poured  to  that  favored  establishment 
in  the  earlier  years  of  its  existence,  rolling  on  its  tide  all  man- 
ner of  credulous  and  inexperienced  adventurers,  vast  sums 
were  lost,  so,  of  those  sums,  certain  fragments  and  pickings 
were  easily  griped  and  gathered  up  by  a  man  of  Uncle  Jack's 
readiness  and  dexterity.  Uncle  Jack  had  contrived  to  pro- 
cure excellent  letters  of  introduction  to  the  colonial  grandees  : 
he  got  into  close  connection  with  some  of  the  principal  parties 
seeking  to  establish  a  monopoly  of  land  (which  has  since  been 
in  great  measure  effected,  by  raising  the  price,  and  excluding 
the  small  fry  of  petty  capitalists);  and  effectually  imposed  on 
them,  as  a  man  with  a  vast  knowledge  of  public  business — in 
the  confidence  of  great  men  at  home — considerable  influence 
with  the  English  press,  etc.,  etc.  And  no  discredit  to  their 
discernment;  for  Jack,  when  he  pleiised,  had  a  way  with  him 
that  was  almost  irresistible.  In  this  manner  he  contrived  to 
associate  himself  and  his  earnings  with  men  really  of  large  capi- 
tal, and  long  practical  experience  in  the  best  mode  by  which 
that  capital  might  be  employed.  He  was  thus  admitted  into 
a  partnership  (so  far  as  his  means  went)  with  Mr.  Bullion,  who 
was  one  of  the  largest  sheep  owners  and  landholders  in  the 
colony  ;  though,  having  many  other  nests  to  feather,  that  gen- 
tleman resided  in  state  at  Sydney,  and  left  his  runs  and  stations 
to  the  care  of  overseers  and  superintendents.  But  land- jobbing 
was  Jack's  special  delight  ;  and  an  ingenious  German  having 
lately  declared  that  the  neighborhood  of  Adelaide  betrayed 


4l6  THE    CAXTON5. 

the  existence  of  those  mineral  treasures  which  have  since  been 
brought  to-day,  Mr.  Tibbets  had  persuaded  Bullion  and  the 
other  gentlemen  now  accompanying  him,  to  undertake  the 
land  journey  from  Sydney  to  Adelaide,  privily  and  quietly,  to 
ascertain  the  truth  of  the  German's  report,  which  was  at  pres- 
ent very  little  believed.  If  the  ground  failed  of  mines,  Uncle 
Jack's  account  convinced  his  associates  that  mines  quite  as 
profitable  might  be  found  in  the  pockets  of  the  raw  adventurers 
who  were  ready  to  buy  one  year  at  the  dearest  market,  and 
driven  to  sell  the  next  at  the  cheapest. 

"  But,"  concluded  Uncle  Jack,  with  a  sly  look,  and  giving 
me  a  poke  in  the  ribs,  "  I've  had  to  do  with  mines  before  now, 
and  know  what  they  are.  I'll  let  nobody  but  you  into  my 
pet  scheme  ;  you  shall  go  shares  if  you  like.  The  scheme  is 
as  plain  as  a  problem  in  Euclid — if  the  German  is  right,  and 
there  are  mines,  why  the  mines  will  be  worked.  Then  miners 
must  be  employed ;  but  miners  must  eat,  drink,  and  spend 
their  money.    The  thing  is  to  get  that  money.    Do  you  take  ? " 

PisiSTRATUS. — Not  at  all ! 

Uncle  Jack  (majestically). — A  Great  Grog  and  Store 
Depot !  The  miners  want  grog  and  stores,  come  to  your 
depot  ;  you  take  their  money  ;  Q.E.D.  !  Shares — eh,  you 
dog  ?  Cribs,  as  we  said  at  school.  Put  in  a  paltry  thousand 
or  two,  and  you  shall  go  halves. 

PisiSTRATUs  (vehemently). — Not  for  all  the  mines  of  Potosi. 

Uncle  Jack  (good-humoredly). — Well,  it  shant  be  the 
worse  for  you.  I  shant  alter  my  will,  in  spite  of  your  want  of 
confidence.  Your  young  friend — that  Mr.  Vivian,  I  think 
you  call  him — intelligent-looking  fellow,  sharper  than  the 
other,  I  gue.ss — would  he  like  a  share  ? 

PisiSTRATUS. — In  the  grog  depot  ?  You  had  better  ask 
him  ! 

Uncle  Jack. — What !  you  pretend  to  be  aristocratic  in  the 
Bush  !  Too  good.  Ha,  ha — they're  calling  to  me — we  must 
be  off. 

PisiSTRATUS. — I  will  ride  with  you  a  few  miles.  What  say 
you,  Vivian  ?  and  you,  Guy  ? 

As  the  whole  party  now  joined  us. 

Guy  prefers  basking  in  the  sun,  and  reading  the  "  Lives  of 
the  Poets."  Vivian  assents  ;  we  accompany  the  party  till 
sunset.  Major  MacBlarney  prodigalizes  his  offers  of  service 
in  every  conceivable  department  of  life,  and  winds  up  with  an 
assurance  that,  if  we  want  anything  in  those  departments 
connected  with  engineering,  such  as  mining,  mapping,  survey- 


THE    CAXTONS.  417 

ing,  etc.,  he  will  serve  us,  bedad,  for  nothing,  or  next  to  it. 
We  suspect  Major  MacBlarney  to  be  a  civil  engineer,  suffer- 
ing under  the  innocent  hallucination  that  he  has  been  in  the 
army. 

Mr.  Speck  lets  out  to  me,  in  a  confidential  whisper,  that 
Mr.  Bullion  is  monstrous  rich,  and  has  made  his  fortune  from 
small  beginnings,  by  never  letting  a  good  thing  go.  I  think 
of  Uncle  Jack's  pickled  onion,  and  Mr.  Speck's  meerschaum, 
and  perceive,  with  respectful  admiration,  that  Mr.  Bullion  acts 
uniformly  on  one  grand  system.  Ten  minutes  afterwards, 
Mr.  Bullion  observes,  in  a  tone  equally  confidential,  that  Mr. 
Speck,  though  so  smiling  and  civil,  is  as  sharp  as  a  needle  ; 
and  that  if  I  want  any  shares  in  the  new  speculation,  or 
indeed  in  any  other,  I  had  better  come  at  once  to  Bullion, 
who  would  not  deceive  me  for  my  weight  in  gold.  "  Not," 
added  Bullion,  "  that  I  have  anything  to  say  against  Speck. 
He  is  well  enough  to  do  in  the  world — a  warm  man,  sir  ;  and 
when  a  man  is  really  warm,  I  am  the  last  person  to  think  of 
his  little  faults,  and  turn  on  him  the  cold  shoulder." 

"  Adieu  !  "  said  Uncle  Jack,  pulling  out  once  more  his 
pocket-handkerchief ;  "  my  love  to  all  at  home."  And  sink- 
ing his  voice  into  a  whisper  :  "  If  ever  you  think  better  of  the 
grog  and  store  depot,  nephew,  you'll  find  a  uncle's  heart  in 
this  bosom  ! " 

CHAPTER  II. 

It  was  night  as  Vivian  and  myself  rode  slowly  home.  Night 
in  Australia  !  How  'mpossible  to  describe  its  beauty  ! 
Heaven  seems,  in  that  new  world,  so  much  nearer  to  earth  ! 
Every  star  stands  out  so  bright  and  particular,  as  if  fresh  from 
the  time  when  the  Maker  willed  it.  And  the  moon  like  a  • 
large  silvery  sun  ;  the  least  object  on  which  it  shines  so  dis- 
tinct and  so  still.*  Now  and  then  a  sound  breaks  the  silence, 
but  a  sound  so  much  in  harmony  with  the  solitude  that  it  only 
deepens  its  charms.  Hark  !  the  low  cry  of  a  night-bird,  from 
yonder  glen  amidst  the  small,  gray,  gleaming  rocks.  Hark  ! 
as  night  deepens,  the  bark  of  the  distant  watch-dog,  or  the 
low,  strange  howl  of  his  more  savage  species,  from  which  he 
defends  the  fold.  Hark  !  the  echo  catches  the  sound,  and 
flings  it  sportively  from  hill  to  hill — farther,  and  farther,  and 

♦  "  I  have  frequently,"  says  Mr.  Wilkinson,  in  his  invaluable  work  upon  South  Austra- 
lia, at  once  so  graphic  and  so  practical,  "  been  out  on  a  journey  in  such  a  night,  and  whilst 
allowing  the  hor5;e  his  own  time  to  walk  along  the  road,  have  solaced  myself  by  reading  in 
the  still  moonlight." 


4l8  THE    CAXTONS. 

farther  down,  till  all  again  is  hushed,  and  the  flowers  hang 
noiseless  over  your  head,  as  you  ride  through  a  grove  of  the 
giant  gum-trees.  Now  the  air  is  literally  charged  with  the 
odors,  and  the  sense  of  fragrance  grows  almost  painful  in  its 
pleasure.  You  quicken  your  pace,  and  escape  again  into  the 
open  plains  and  the  full  moonlight,  and  through  the  slender 
tea-trees  catch  the  gleam  of  the  river,  and  in  the  exquisite 
fineness  of  the  atmosphere  hear  the  soothing  sound  of  its 
murmur. 

PisiSTRATUS. — And  this  land  has  become  the  heritage  of 
our  people  !  Methinks  I  see,  as  I  gaze  around,  the  scheme 
of  the  All-beneficent  Father  disentangling  itself  clear  through 
the  troubled  history  of  mankind.  How  mysteriously,  while 
Europe  rears  its  populations,  and  fulfils  its  civilizing  mission, 
these  realms  have  been  concealed  from  its  eyes — divulged  to 
us  just  as  civilization  needs  the  solution  to  its  problems  ;  a 
vent  for  feverish  energies,  baffled  in  the  crowd  ;  offering  bread 
to  the  famished,  hope  to  the  desperate  ;  in  very  truth  enabling 
the  "  New  World  to  redress  the  balance  of  the  Old."  Here, 
what  a  Latium  for  the  wandering  spirits, 

"  On  various  seas  by  various  tempests  toss'd." 

Here,  the  actual  ^Eneid  passes  before  our  eyes.  From  the 
huts  of  the  exiles  scattered  over  this  hardier  Italy,  who  can 
not  see  in  the  future, 

"  A  race  from  whence  new  Alban  sires  shall  come. 
And  the  long  glories  of  a  future  Rome  ?  " 

Vivian  (mournfully). — Is  it  from  the  outcasts  of  the  work- 
house, the  prison,  and  the  transport  ship,  that  a  second  Rome 
is  to  arise  ? 

PisiSTRATUS. — There  is  something  in  this  new  soil — in  the 
labor  it  calls  forth,  in  the  hope  it  inspires,  in  the  sense  of  prop- 
erty, which  I  take  to  be  the  core  of  social  morals — that  ex- 
pedites the  work  of  redemption  with  marvellous  rapidity. 
Take  them  altogether,  whatever  their  origin,  or  whatever 
brought  them  hither,  they  are  a  fine,  manly,  frank-hearted 
race,  these  colonists  now  ! — rude,  not  mean,  especially  in  the 
Bush,  and,  I  suspect,  will  ultimately  become  as  gallant  and 
honest  a  population  as  that  now  springing  up  in  South  Aus- 
tralia, from  which  convicts  are  excluded — and  happily  ex- 
cluded— for  the  distinction  will  sharpen  emulation.  As  to 
the  rest,  and  in  direct  answer  to  your  question,  I  fancy  even 
the  emancipist  part  of  our  population  every  whit  as  respect- 
able as  the  mongrel  robbers  under  Romulus. 


THE   CAXTONS.  419 

Vivian. — But  were  they  not  soldiers  ? — I  mean  the  first 
Romans  ? 

PisiSTRATUs. — My  dear  cousin,  we  are  in  advance  of  those 
grim  outcasts,  if  we  can  get  lands,  houses,  and  wives  (though 
the  last  is  difficult,  and  it  is  well  that  we  have  no  white  Sabines 
in  the  neighborhood),  without  that  same  soldiering  which  was 
the  necessity  of  their  existence. 

Vivian  (after  a  pause). — I  have  written  to  my  father,  and 
to  yours  more  fully — stating  in  the  one  letter  my  wish,  in  the 
other  trying  to  explain  the  feelings  from  which  it  springs. 

PisiSTRATUs. — Are  the  letters  gone  ? 

Vivian. — Yes. 

PISISTRATUS. — And  you  would  not  show  them  to  me  ! 

Vivian. — Do  not  speak  so  reproachfully.  I  promised  your 
father  to  pour  out  my  whole  heart  to  him,  whenever  it  was 
troubled  and  at  strife.  I  promise  you  now  that  I  will  go  by 
his  advice. 

PISISTRATUS  (disconsolately). — What  is  there  in  this  mili- 
tary life  for  which  you  yearn  that  can  yield  you  more  food  for 
healthful  excitement  and  stirring  adventure  than  your  present 
pursuits  afford  ? 

Vivian. — Distinction !  You  do  not  see  the  difference 
between  us.  You  have  but  a  fortune  to  make,  I  have  a  name 
to  redeem  ;  you  look  calmly  on  to  the  future  ;  I  have  a  dark 
blot  to  erase  from  the  past. 

Pisistratus  (soothingly). — It  is  erased.  Five  years  of  no 
weak  bewailings,  but  of  manly  reform,  steadfast  industry,  con- 
duct so  blameless  that  even  Guy  (whom  I  look  upon  as  the 
incarnation  of  blunt  English  honesty)  half  doubts  whether  you 
are  'cute  enough  for  "  a  station  " — a  character  already  so  high 
that  I  long  for  the  hour  when  you  will  again  take  your  father's 
spotless  name,  and  give  me  the  pride  to  own  our  kinship  to 
the  world, — all  this  surely  redeems  the  errors  arising  from  an 
uneducated  childhood  and  a  wandering  youth. 

Vivian  (leaning  over  his  horse,  and  putting  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder). — "  My  dear  friend,  what  do  I  owe  you  !  "  Then 
recovering  his  emotion,  and  pushing  on  at  a  quicker  pace, 
while  he  continues  to  speak  :  "  But  can  you  not  see  that,  just 
in  proportion  as  my  comprehension  of  right  would  become 
clear  and  strong,  so  my  conscience  would  become  also  more 
sensitive  and  reproachful  ;  and  the  better  I  understand  my 
gallant  father,  the  more  I  must  desire  to  be  as  he  would  have 
had  his  son.  Do  you  think  it  would  content  him,  could  he  see 
me  branding  cattle,  and  bargaining  with  bullock-drivers  ? — 


420  THE    CAXTONS. 

Was  it  not  the  strongest  wish  of  his  heart  that  I  should  adopt 
his  own  career  ?  Have  I  not  heard  you  say  that  he  would 
have  had  you  too  a  soldier,  but  for  your  mother  ?  If  I  made 
thousands,  and  tens  of  thousands,  by  this  ignoble  calling, 
would  they  give  my  father  half  the  pleasure  thac  he  would  feel 
at  seeing  my  name  honorably  mentioned  in  a  despatch  ?  No, 
no  !  You  have  banished  the  gypsy  blood,  and  now  the  soldier's 
breaks  out !  Oh,  for  one  glorious  day  in  which  I  may  clear 
my  way  into  fair  repute,  as  our  fathers  before  us  !  when  tears 
of  proud  joy  may  flow  from  those  eyes  that  have  wept  such 
hot  drops  at  my  shame.  When  she,  too,  in  her  high  station 
beside  that  sleek  lord,  may  say  :  *  His  heart  was  not  so  vile, 
after  all ! '  Don't  argue  with  me — it  is  in  vain  !  Pray,  rather, 
that  I  may  have  leave  to  work  out  my  own  way  ;  for  I  tell  you 
that,  if  condemned  to  stay  here,  I  may  not  murmur  aloud — I 
may  go  through  this  round  of  low  duties  as  the  brute  turns 
the  wheel  of  a  mill !  but  my  heart  will  prey  on  itself,  and  you 
shall  soon  write  on  my  gravestone  the  epitaph  of  the  poor 
poet  you  told  us  of,  whose  true  disease  was  the  thirst  of  glory  : 
*  Here  lies  one  whose  name  was  written  in  water.'  " 

I  had  no  answer  ;  that  contagious  ambition  made  my  own 
veins  run  more  warmly,  and  my  own  heart  beat  with  a  louder 
tumult.  Amidst  the  pastoral  scenes,  and  under  the  tranquil 
moonlight  of  the  New,  the  Old  World,  even  in  me,  rude  Bush- 
man, claimed  for  a  while  its  son.  But  as  we  rode  on,  the  air, 
so  inexpressibly  buoyant,  yet  soothing  as  an  anodyne,  restored 
me  to  peaceful  Nature.  Now  the  flocks,  in  their  snowy  clusters, 
were  seen  sleeping  under  the  stars  ;  hark  !  the  welcome  of  the 
watchdogs  ;  see  the  light  gleaming  far  from  the  chink  of  the 
door  !  And,  pausing,  I  said  aloud  :  "  No,  there  is  more  glory 
in  laying  these  rough  foundations  of  a  mighty  state,  though  no 
trumpets  resound  with  your  victory,  though  no  laurels  shall 
shadow  your  tomb,  tnan  in  forcing  the  onward  progress  of 
your  race  over  burning  cities  and  hecatombs  of  men  !  "  I 
looked  round  for  Vivian's  answer ;  but,  ere  I  spoke,  he  had 
spurred  from  my  side,  and  I  saw  the  wild  dogs  slinking  back 
from  the  hoofs  of  his  horse,  as  he  rode  at  speed,  on  the  sward, 
through  the  moonlight. 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  weeks  and  the  months  rolled  on,  and  the  replies  to 
Vivian's  letters  came  at  last :  I  foreboded  too  well  their  pur- 
port.    I  knew  that  my  father  could  not  set  himself  in  opposi- 


THE   CAXTONS.  421 

tion  to  the  deliberate  and  cherished  desire  of  a  man  who  had 
now  arrived  at  the  full  strength  of  his  understanding,  and 
must  be  left  at  liberty  to  make  his  own  election  of  the  paths 
of  life.  Long  after  that  date,  I  saw  Vivian's  letter  to  my 
father  ;  and  even  his  conversation  had  scarcely  prepared  me 
for  the  pathos  of  that  confession  of  a  mind  remarkable  alike 
for  its  strength  and  its  weakness.  If  born  in  the  age,  or  sub- 
mitted to  the  influences,  of  religious  enthusiasm,  here  was  a 
nature  that,  awaking  from  sin,  could  not  have  been  contented 
with  the  sober  duties  of  mediocre  goodness — that  would  have 
plunged  into  the  fiery  depths  of  monkish  fanaticism,  wrestled 
with  the  fiend  in  the  hermitage,  or  marched  barefoot  on  the 
infidel  with  the  sackcloth  for  armor,  the  cross  for  a  sword. 
Now,  the  impatient  desire  for  redemption  took  a  more  mun- 
dane direction,  but  with  something  that  seemed  almost  spirit- 
ual in  its  fervor.  And  this  enthusiasm  flowed  through  strata 
of  such  profound  melancholy  !  Deny  it  a  vent,  and  it  might 
sicken  into  lethargy,  or  fret  itself  into  madness  ;  give  it  the 
vent,  and  it  might  vivify  and  fertilize  as  it  swept  along. 

My  father's  reply  to  this  letter  was  what  might  be  expected. 
It  gently  reinforced  the  old  lessons  in  the  distinctions  between 
aspirations  towards  the  perfecting  ourselves — aspirations  that 
are  never  in  vain — and  the  morbid  passion  for  applause  from 
others,  which  shifts  conscience  from  our  own  bosoms  to  the 
confused  Babel  of  the  crowd,  and  calls  it  "  fame."  But  my 
father,  in  his  counsels,  did  not  seek  to  oppose  a  mind  so 
obstinately  bent  upon  a  single  course  ;  he  sought  rather  to 
guide  and  strengthen  it  in  the  way  it  should  go.  The  seas  of 
human  life  are  wide.  Wisdom  may  suggest  the  voyage,  but  it 
must  first  look  to  the  condition  of  the  ship,  and  the  nature  of 
the  merchandise  to  exchange.  Not  every  vessel  that  sails 
from  Tarshish  can  bring  back  the  gold  of  Ophir  ;  but  shall  it 
therefore  rot  in  the  harbor  ?     No  ;  give  its  sails  to  the  wind  ! 

But  I  had  expected  that  Roland's  letter  to  his  son  would 
have  been  full  of  joy  and  exultation — joy  there  was  none  in  it, 
yet  exultation  there  might  be,  though  serious,  grave,  and  sub- 
dued. In  the  proud  assent  that  the  old  soldier  gave  to  his 
son's  wish,  in  his  entire  comprehension  of  motives  so  akin  to 
his  own  nature,  there  was  yet  a  visible  sorrow  ;  it  seemed  even 
as  if  he  constrained  himself  to  the  assent  he  gave.  Not  till  I 
had  read  it  again  and  again,  could  I  divine  Roland's  feelings 
while  he  wrote.  At  this  distance  of  time,  I  comprehend  them 
well.  Had  he  sent  from  his  side,  into  noble  warfare,  some 
boy  fresh  to  life,  new  to  sin,  with  an  enthusiasm  pure  and 


y*i2  THE  CAXTONS. 

single-hearted  as  his  own  young  chivalrous  ardor,  then,  with 
all  a  soldier's  joy,  he  had  yielded  a  cheerful  tribute  to  the  hosts 
of  England  ;  but  here  he  recognized,  though  perhaps  dimly, 
not  the  frank  military  fervor,  but  the  stern  desire  of  expiation, 
and  in  that  thought  he  admitted  forebodings  that  would  have 
been  otherwise  rejected,  so  that,  at  the  close  of  the  letter,  it 
seemed  not  the  fiery,  war-seasoned  Roland  that  wrote,  but 
rather  some  timid,  anxious  mother.  Warnings  and  entreaties 
and  cautions  not  to  be  rash,  and  assurances  that  the  best 
soldiers  were  ever  the  most  prudent ;  were  these  the  counsels 
of  the  fierce  veteran  who,  at  the  head  of  the  forlorn  hope,  had 
mounted  the  wall  at ,  his  sword  between  his  teeth  ! 

But,  whatever  his  presentiments,  Roland  had  yielded  at 
once  to  his  son's  prayer — hastened  to  London  at  the  receipt 
of  his  letter — obtained  a  commission  in  a  regiment  now  in 
active  service  in  India  ;  and  that  commission  was  made  out  in 
his  son's  name.  The  commission,  with  an  order  to  join  the 
regiment  as  soon  as  possible,  accompanied  the  letter. 

And  Vivian,  pointing  to  the  name  addressed  to  him,  said  : 
"  Now,  indeed,  I  may  resume  this  name,  and,  next  to  Heaven, 
will  I  hold  it  sacred  !  It  shall  guide  me  to  glory  in  life,  or  my 
father  shall  read  it,  without  shame,  on  my  tomb  !  "  I  see  him 
before  me,  as  he  stood  then — his  form  erect,  his  dark  eyes 
solemn  in  their  light,  a  serenity  in  his  smile,  a  grandeur  on  his 
brow,  that  I  had  never  marked  till  then  !  Was  that  the  same 
man  I  had  recoiled  from  as  the  sneering  cynic,  shuddered  at 
as  the  audacious  traitor,  or  wept  over  as  the  cowering  outcast  ? 
How  little  the  nobleness  of  aspect  depends  on  symmetry  of 
feature,  or  the  mere  proportions  of  form  !  What  dignity  robes 
the  man  who  is  filled  with  a  lofty  thought ! 

CHAPTER  IV. 

He  is  gone  !  He  has  left  a  void  in  my  existence.  I  had 
grown  to  love  him  so  well  ;  I  had  been  so  proud  when  men 
praised  him.  My  love  was  a  sort  of  self-love — I  had  looked 
upon  him  in  part  as  the  work  of  my  own  hand.s.  I  am  a  long 
time  ere  I  can  settle  back,  with  good  heart,  to  my  pastoral  life. 
Before  my  cousin  went,  we  cast  up  our  gains,  and  settled  our 
shares.  When  he  resigned  the  allowance  which  Roland  had 
made  him,  his  father  secretly  gave  to  me,  for  his  use,  a  sum 
equal  to  that  which  I  and  Guy  Bolding  brought  into  the  com- 
mon stock.  Roland  had  raised  the  sum  upon  mortgage  ;  and, 
while  the  interest  was  a  trivial   deduction  from  his  income. 


THE  CAXTONS,  4^3 

compared  to  the  former  allowance,  the  capital  was  much  more 
useful  to  his  son  than  a  mere  yearly  payment  could  have  been. 
Thus,  between  us,  we  had  a  considerable  sum  for  Australian 
settlers — ^4500.  For  the  first  two  years  we  made  nothing  ; 
indeed,  great  part  of  the  first  year  was  spent  in  learning  our 
art,  at  the  station  of  an  old  settler.  But,  at  the  end  of  the 
third  year,  our  flocks  having  then  become  very  considerable, 
we  cleared  a  return  beyond  my  most  sanguine  expectations. 
And  when  my  cousin  left,  just  in  the  sixth  year  of  exile,  our 
shares  amounted  to  ^^4000  each,  exclusive  of  the  value  of  the 
two  stations.  My  cousin  had,  at  first,  wished  that  I  should 
forward  his  share  to  his  father,  but  he  soon  saw  that  Roland 
would  never  take  it ;  and  it  was  finally  agreed  that  it  should 
rest  in  my  hands,  for  me  to  manage  for  him,  send  him  out  an 
interest  at  five  per  cent.,  and  devote  the  surplus  profits  to  the 
increase  of  his  capital. 

I  had  now,  therefore,  the  control  of  ^12,000,  and  we  might 
consider  ourselves  very  respectable  capitalists.  I  kept  on  the 
cattle  station,  by  the  aid  of  the  Will-o'-the-Wisp,  for  about  two 
years  after  Vivian's  departure  (we  had  then  had  it  altogether 
for  five).  At  the  end  of  that  time,  I  sold  it  and  the  stock  to 
great  advantage.  And  the  sheep — for  the  "  brand  "  of  which 
I  had  a  high  reputation — having  wonderfully  prospered  in  the 
mean  while,  I  thought  we  might  safely  extend  our  speculations 
into  new  ventures.  Glad,  too,  of  a  change  of  scene,  I  left 
Bolding  in  charge  of  the  flocks,  and  bent  my  course  to  Ade- 
laide, for  the  fame  of  that  new  settlement  had  already  dis- 
turbed the  peace  of  the  Bush.  I  found  Uncle  Jack  residing 
near  Adelaide,  in  a  very  handsome  villa,  with  all  the  signs  and 
appurtenances  of  colonial  opulence  ;  and  report  perhaps  did 
not  exaggerate  the  gains  he  had  made — so  many  strings  to  his 
bow — and  each  arrow,  this  time,  seemed  to  have  gone  straight 
to  the  white  of  the  butts.  I  now  thought  I  had  acquired 
knowledge  and  caution  sufficient  to  avail  myself  of  Uncle 
Jack's  ideas,  without  ruining  myself  by  following  them  out  in 
his  company  ;  and  I  saw  a  kind  of  retributive  justice  in  making 
his  brain  minister  to  the  fortune  which  his  ideality  and  con- 
structiveness,  according  to  Squills,  had  served  so  notably  to 
impoverish.  I  must  here  gratefully  acknowledge  that  I  owed 
much  to  this  irregular  genius.  The  mvestigation  of  the  sup- 
posed mines  had  proved  unsatisfactory  to  Mr.  Bullion  ;  and 
they  were  not  fairly  discovered  till  a  few  years  after.  But 
Jack  had  convinced  himself  of  their  existence,  and  purchased, 
on  his  own  account,  "  for  an  old  song,"  some  barren   land, 


424  THE    CAXTONS. 

which  he  was  persuaded  would  prove  to  him  a  Golconda,  one 
day  or  other,  under  the  euphonious  title  (which,  indeed,  it 
ultimately  established)  of  the  "  Tibbets'  Wheal."  The  sus- 
pension of  the  mines,  however,  fortunately  suspended  the  exis- 
tence of  the  Grog  and  Store  Depot,  and  Uncle  Jack  was  now 
assisting  in  the  foundation  of  Port  Philip.  Profiting  by  his 
advice,  I  adventured  in  that  new  settlement  some  timid  and 
wary  purchases,  which  I  re-sold  to  considerable  advantage. 
Meanwhile,  I  must  not  omit  to  state  briefly  what,  since  my 
departure  from  England,  had  been  the  ministerial  career  of 
Trevanion. 

That  refining  fastidiousness,  that  scrupulosity  of  political 
conscience,  which  had  characterized  him  as  an  independent 
member,  and  often  served,  in  the  opinion  both  of  friend  and  of 
foe,  to  give  the  attribute  oi  general  impracticability  to  a  mind 
that,  in  all  details,  was  so  essentially  and  laboriously  practical, 
might  perhaps  have  founded  Trevanion's  reputation  as  a  min- 
ister, if  he  could  have  been  a  minister  without  colleagues — if, 
standing  alone,  and  from  the  necessary  height,  he  could  have 
placed,  clear  and  single,  before  the  world,  his  exquisite  honesty 
of  purpose,  and  the  width  of  a  statesmanship  marvellously 
accomplished  and  comprehensive.  But  Trevanion  could  not 
amalgamate  with  others,  nor  subscribe  to  the  discipline  of  a 
cabinet  in  which  he  was  not  the  chief,  especially  in  a  policy 
which  must  have  been  thoroughly  abhorrent  to  such  a  nature — 
a  policy  that  of  late  years,  has  distinguished  not  one  faction 
alone,  but  has  seemed  so  forced  upon  the  more  eminent  polit- 
ical leaders,  on  either  side,  that  they  who  take  the  more  char- 
itable view  of  things  may,  perhaps,  hold  it  to  arise  from  the 
necessity  of  the  age,  fostered  by  the  temper  of  the  public — I 
mean  the  policy  of  Expediency.  Certainly  not  in  this  book  will 
I  introduce  the  angry  elements  of  party  politics  ;  and  how 
should  I  know  much  about  them  ?  All  that  I  have  to  say  is, 
that,  right  or  wrong,  such  a  policy  must  have  been  at  war, 
every  moment,  with  each  principle  of  Trevanion's  statesman- 
ship, and  fretted  each  fibre  of  his  moral  constitution.  The 
aristocratic  combinations  which  his  alliance  with  the  Castleton 
interest  had  brought  to  his  aid,  served  perhaps  to  fortify  his 
position  in  the  cabinet  ;  yet  aristocratic  combinations  were  of 
small  avail  against  what  seemed  the  atmospherical  epidemic  of 
the  age,  I  could  see  how  his  situation  had  preyed  on  his 
mind,  when  I  read  a  paragraph  in  the  newspapers,  "  that  it 
was  reported,  on  good  authority,  that  Mr.  Trevanion  had  ten- 
dered his  resignation,  but  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  withdraw 


THE   CAXTONS.  425 

it,  as  his  retirement  at  that  moment  would  break  up  the  gov- 
ernment." Some  months  afterwards  came  another  paragraph, 
to  the  effect,  "  that  Mr.  Trevanion  was  taken  suddenly  ill,  and 
that  it  was  feared  his  illness  was  of  a  nature  to  preclude  his 
resuming  his  official  labors."  Then  Parliament  broke  up. 
Before  it  met  again,  Mr.  Trevanion  was  gazetted  as  Earl  of 
Ulverstone,  a  title  that  had  been  once  in  his  family,  and  had 
left  the  administration,  unable  to  encounter  the  fatigues  of 
office.  To  an  ordinary  man,  the  elevation  to  an  earldom,  pass- 
ing over  the  lesser  honors  in  the  peerage,  would  have  seemed 
no  mean  close  to  a  political  career  ;  but  I  felt  what  profound 
despair  of  striving  against  circumstance  for  utility — what 
entanglements  with  his  colleagues,  whom  he  could  neither 
conscientiously  support,  nor,  according  to  his  high,  old-fash- 
ioned notions  of  party  honor  and  etiquette,  energetically 
oppose — had  driven  him  to  abandon  that  stormy  scene  in  which 
his  existence  had  been  passed.  The  House  of  Lords,  to  that 
active  intellect,  was  as  the  retirement  of  some  warrior  of  old 
into  the  cloisters  of  a  convent.  The  Gazette  that  chron- 
icled the  earldom  of  Ulverstone  was  the  proclamation  that 
Albert  Trevanion  lived  no  more  for  the  world  of  public 
men.  And,  indeed,  from  that  date  his  carear  vanished  out 
of  sight.  Trevanion  died — the  Earl  of  Ulverstone  made 
no  sign. 

I  had  hitherto  written  but  twice  to  Lady  Ellinor  during  my 
exile — once  upon  the  marriage  of  Fanny  with  Lord  Castleton, 
which  took  place  about  six  months  after  I  sailed  from 
England,  and  again,  when  thanking  her  husband  for  some 
rare  animals,  equine,  pastoral,  and  bovine,  which  he  had  sent 
as  presents  to  Bolding  and  myself.  I  wrote  again  after  Tre- 
vanion's  elevation  to  the  peerage,  and  received,  in  due  time, 
a  reply,  confirming  all  my  impressions,  for  it  was  full  of  bitter- 
ness and  gall,  accusations  of  the  world,  fears  for  the  country  : 
Richelieu  himself  could  not  have  taken  a  gloomier  view  of 
things,  when  his  levees  were  deserted,  and  his  power  seemed 
annihilated  before  the  "  Day  of  Dupes."  Only  one  gleam  of 
comfort  appeared  to  visit  Lady  Ulverstone's  breast,  and 
thence  to  settle  prospectively  over  the  future  of  the  world — a 
second  son  had  been  born  to  Lord  Castleton  ;  to  that  son 
would  descend  the  estates  of  Ulverstone,  and  the  representa- 
tion of  that  line  distinguished  by  Trevanion,  and  enriched  by 
Trevanion's  wife.  Never  was  there  a  child  of  such  promise  ! 
Not  Virgil  himself,  when  he  called  on  the  Sicilian  Muses  to 
celebrate  the  advent  of  a  son  to  PoUio,  ever  sounded  a  loftier 


426  THE   CAXTONS. 

Strain.     Here  was  one,  now,  perchance,  engaged  on  words  of 
two  syllables,  called  : 

"  By  laboring  nature  to  sustain 
The  nodding  frame  oi  heaven,  and  earth,  aid  main. 
See  to  their  base  restored,  earth,  .sea,  and  air, 
And  joyful  ages  from  behind  in  crowdmg  ranlts  appear  !  " 

Happy  dream  which  Heaven  sends  to  grandparents  !  re- 
baptism  of  Hope  in  the  font  whose  drops  sprinkle  the  grand- 
child ! 

Time  flies  on  ;  affairs  continue  to  prosper.  I  am  just  leav- 
ing the  bank  at  Adelaide  with  a  satisfVed  air,  when  1  am 
stopped  in  the  street  by  bowing  acquaintances,  who  never 
shook  me  by  the  hand  before.  They  shake  me  by  the  hand 
now,  and  cry  :  "  I  wish  you  joy,  sir.  That  brave  fellow,  your 
namesake,  is  of  course  your  near  relation." 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Have  not  you  seen  the  papers  ?     Here  they  are." 

"Gallant  conduct  of  Ensign  de  Caxton — promoted  to  a 
lieutenancy  on  the  field."  I  wipe  my  eyes,  and  cry:  "  Thank 
Heaven — it  is  my  cousin  !  "  Then  new  hand-shakings,  new 
groups  gather  round.  I  feel  taller  by  the  head  than  I  was 
before  !  We,  grumbling  English,  always  quarrelling  with 
each  other — the  world  not  wide  enough  to  hold  us  ;  and  yet, 
when  in  the  far  land  some  bold  deed  is  done  by  a  countryman, 
how  we  feel  that  we  are  brothers  !  How  our  hearts  warm  to 
each  other  !  What  a  letter  I  wrote  home !  And  how  joy- 
ously I  went  back  to  the  Bush  !  The  Will-o'-the-Wisp  has 
attained  to  a  cattle-station  of  his  own,  I  go  fifty  miles  out  of 
my  way  to  tell  him  the  news  and  give  him  the  newspaper  ; 
for  he  knows  now  that  his  old  master,  Vivian,  is  a  Cumber- 
land man — a  Caxton.  Poor  Wili-o'-the-Wisp  !  The  tea  that 
night  tasted  uncommonly  like  whisky-punch  !  Father  Mathew 
forgive  us,  but  if  you  had  been  a  Cumberland  man,  and  heard 
the  Will-o'-the-Wisp  roaring  out,  "Blue  bonnets  over  the 
Border,"  I  think  your  tea,  too,  would  not  have  come  out  of 
the — caddy  ! 

CHAPTER    V. 

A  GREAT  change  has  occurred  in  our  household.  Guy's 
father  is  dead — his  latter  years  cheered  by  the  accounts  of  his 
son's  steadiness  and  prosperity,  and  by  the  touching  proofs 
thereof  which  Guy  has  exhibited.  For  he  insisted  on  repay- 
ing to  his  father  the  old  college  debts,  and  the  advance  of  the 


THE  CAXTONS.  427 

^^1500,  begging  that  the  money  might  go  towards  his  sister's 
portion.  Now,  after  the  old  gentleman's  death,  the  sister 
resolved  to  come  out  and  live  with  her  dear  brother  Guy. 
Another  wing  is  built  to  the  hut.  Ambitious  plans  for  a  new 
stone  house,  to  be  commenced  the  following  year,  are  enter- 
tained ;  and  Guy  has  brought  back  from  Adelaide  not  only  a 
sister,  but,  to  my  utter  astonishment,  a  wife,  in  the  shape  of  a 
fair  friend  by  whom  the  sister  is  accompanied. 

The  young  lady  did  quite  right  to  come  to  Australia  if  she 
wanted  to  be  married.  She  was  very  pretty,  and  all  the  beaux 
in  Adelaide  were  round  her  in  a  moment,  Guy  was  in  love 
the  first  day — in  a  rage  with  thirty  rivals  the  next — in  despair 
the  third — put  the  question  the  fourth — and  before  the  fif- 
teenth was  a  married  man,  hastening  back  with  a  treasure,  of 
which  he  fancied  all  the  world  was  conspiring  to  rob  him. 
His  sister  was  quite  as  pretty  as  her  friend,  and  she,  too,  had 
offers  enough  the  moment  she  landed — only  she  was  romantic 
and  fastidious,  and  I  fancy  Guy  told  her  that  •'  I  was  just  made 
for  her." 

However,  charming  though  she  be — with  pretty  blue  eyes, 
and  her  brother's  frank  smile — I  am  not  enchanted.  I  fancy 
she  lost  all  chance  of  my  heart  by  stepping  across  the  yard  in 
a  pair  of  silk  shoes.  If  I  were  to  live  in  the  Bush,  give  me  a 
wife  as  a  companion  who  can  ride  well,  leap  over  a  ditch,  walk 
beside  me  when  I  go  forth  gun  in  hand,  for  a  shot  at  the  kan- 
garoos. But  I  dare  not  go  on  with  the  list  of  a  Bush  husband's 
requisites.  This  change,  however,  serves,  for  various  reasons, 
to  quicken  my  desire  of  return.  Ten  years  have  now  elapsed, 
and  I  have  already  obtained  a  much  larger  fortune  than  I  had 
calculated  to  make.  Sorely  to  Guy's  honest  grief,  I  therefore 
wound  up  our  affairs,  and  dissolved  partnership  ;  for  he  had 
decided  to  pass  his  life  in  the  colony — and  with  his  pretty 
wife,  who  has  grown  very  fond  of  him,  I  don't  wonder  at  it. 
Guy  takes  my  share  of  the  station  and  stock  off  my  hands ; 
and,  all  accounts  squared  between  us,  I  bid  farewell  to  the 
Bush.  Despite  all  the  motives  that  drew  my  heart  homeward, 
it  was  not  without  participation  in  the  sorrow  of  my  old  com- 
panions, that  I  took  leave  of  those  I  might  never  see  again  on 
this  side  the  grave.  The  meanest  man  in  my  employ  had 
grown  a  friend  ;  and  when  those  hard  hands  grasped  mine, 
and  from  many  a  breast  that  once  had  waged  fierce  war  with 
the  world  came  the  soft  blessing  to  the  Homeward-bound — 
with  a  tender  thought  for  the  Old  England,  that  had  been  but 
a  harsh  stepmother  to  them — I  felt  a  choking  sensation,  which 


428  THE   CAXTONS. 

I  suspect  is  little  known  to  the  friendships  of  Mayfair  and 
St.  James's.  I  was  forced  to  get  off  with  a  few  broken  words, 
when  I  had  meant  to  part  with  a  long  speech  :  perhaps  the 
broken  words  pleased  the  audience  better.  Spurring  away,  I 
gained  a  little  eminence  and  looked  back.  There  were  the 
poor  faithful  fellows  gathered  in  a  ring,  watching  me,  their 
hats  off,  their  hands  shading  their  eyes  from  the  sun.  And 
Guy  had  thrown  himself  on  the  ground,  and  I  heard  his  loud 
sobs  distinctly.  His  wife  was  leaningover  his  shoulder,  trying 
to  soothe.  Forgive  him,  fair  helpmate,  you  will  be  all  in  the 
world  to  him — to-morrow  !  and  the  blue-eyed  sister,  where  was 
she  ?  Had  she  no  tears  for  the  rough  friend  who  laughed  at  the 
silk  shoes,  and  taught  her  how  to  hold  the  reins,  and  never  fear 
that  the  old  pony  would  run  away  with  her?  What  matter? 
If  the  tears  was  shed  they  were  hidden  tears.  No  shame  in 
them,  fair  Ellen  !  Since  then,  thou  hast  wept  happy  tears 
over  thy  first-born — those  tears  have  long  ago  washed  away 
all  bitterness  in  the  innocent  memories  of  a  girl's  first  fancy. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

DATED  FROM  ADELAIDE. 

Imagine  my  wonder — Uncle  Jack  has  just  been  with  me, 
and — but  hear  the  dialogue  : 

Uncle  Jack. — So  you  are  positively  going  back  to  that 
smoky,  fusty,  old  England,  just  when  you  are  on  your  high 
road  to  a  plumb.  A  plumb,  sir,  at  least  !  They  all  say  there 
is  not  a  more  rising  young  man  in  the  colony.  I  think  Bul- 
lion would  take  you  into  partnership.  What  are  you  in  such 
a  hurry  for  ? 

PisiSTRATUS. — To  see  my  father  and  mother,  and  Uncle 
Roland,  and — (was  about  to  name  some  one  else,  but  stops). 
You  see,  my  dear  uncle,  I  came  out  solely  with  the  idea  of  re- 
pairing  my  father's  losses,  in  that  unfortunate  speculation  of 
The  Capitalist. 

Uncle  Jack  (coughs  and  ejaculates). — That  villain  Peck  ! 

PisiSTRATUS. — And  to  have  a  few  thousands  to  invest  in 
poor  Roland's  acres.  The  object  is  achieved  :  why  should  I 
stay  ? 

Uncle  Jack. — A  few  paltry  thousands,  when  in  twenty 
years  more,  at  the  farthest,  you  would  wallow  in  gold  ! 

PisiSTRATUS. — A  man  learns  in  the  Bush  how  happy  life  can 
be  with  plenty  of  employment  and  very  little  money.  '  I  shall 
practise  that  lesson  in  England, 


THE  CAXTONS.  4^9 

Uncle  Jack. — Your  mind's  made  up? 

PisiSTRATUS. — And  my  place  in  the  ship  taken. 

Uncle  Jack. — Then  there's  no  more  to  be  said.  (Hums, 
haws,  and  examines  his  nails — filbert  nails,  not  a  speck  on 
them.  Then  suddenly,  and  jerking  up  his  head) — That  Cap- 
italist !  it  has  been  on  my  conscience,  nephew,  ever  since ; 
and,  somehow  or  other,  since  I  have  abandoned  the  cause  of 
my  fellow-creatures,  I  think  I  have  cared  more  for  my  relations. 

PisiSTRATUS  (smiling  as  he  remembers  his  father's  shrewd 
predictions  thereon). — Naturally,  my  dear  uncle:  any  child 
who  has  thrown  a  stone  into  a  pond  knows  that  a  circle  disap- 
pears as  it  widens. 

Uncle  Jack. — Very  true — I  shall  make  a  note  of  that, 
applicable  to  my  next  speech,  in  defence  of  what  they  call  the 
"  land  monopoly."  Thank  you— stone — circle!  (Jots  down 
notes  in  his  pocket-book.)  But,  to  return  to  the  point  :  I  am 
well  off  now — I  have  neither  wife  nor  child  ;  and  I  feel  that  I 
ought  to  bear  my  share  in  your  father's  loss  :  it  was  our  joint 
speculation.  And  your  father,  good  dear  Austin  !  paid  my 
debts  into  the  bargain.  And  how  cheering  the  punch  was  that 
night,  when  your  mother  wanted  to  scold  poor  Jack  !  And 
the  ^2fio  Austin  lent  me  when  I  left  him  :  nephew,  that  was 
the  remaking  of  me — the  acorn  of  the  oak  I  have  planted.  So 
here  they  are  (added  Uncle  Jack,  with  a  heroical  effort — and 
he  extracted  from  the  pocket-book  bills  for  a  sum  between 
three  and  four  thousand  pounds).  There,  it  is  done  ;  and  I 
shall  sleep  better  for  it !  (With  that  Uncle  Jack  got  up,  and 
bolted  out  of  the  room.) 

Ought  I  to  take  the  money  ?  Why,  I  think  yes  ! — it  is  but 
fair.  Jack  must  be  really  rich,  and  can  well  spare  the  money  ; 
besides,  if  he  wants  it  again,  I  know  my  father  will  let  him 
have  it.  And,  indeed.  Jack  caused  the  loss  of  the  whole  sum 
lost  on  The  Capitalist,  etc.,  and  this  is  not  quite  the  half  of 
what  my  father  paid  away.  But  is  it  not  fine  in  Uncle  Jack  ! 
Well,  my  father  was  quite  right  in  his  milder  estimate  of 
Jack's  scalene  conformation,  and  it  is  hard  to  judge  of  a  man 
when  he  is  needy  and  down  in  the  world.  When  one  grafts 
one's  ideas  on  one's  neighbor's  money,  they  are  certainly  not 
so  grand  as  when  they  spring  from  one's  own. 

Uncle  Jack  (popping  his  head  into  the  room). — And,  you 
see,  you  can  double  that  money  if  you  will  just  leave  it  in  my 
hands  for  a  couple  of  years — you  have  no  notion  what  I  shall 
make  of  the  Tibbets'  Wheal  !  Did  I  tell  you  ? — the  German  was 
quite  right  ;  I  have  been  offered  already  seven  times  the  sura 


430  THE   CAXTONS. 

which  I  gave  for  the  land.  But  I  am  now  looking  out  for  a 
Company  :  let  me  put  you  down  for  shares  to  the  amount  at 
least  of  those  trumpery  bills.  Cent  per  cent — I  guarantee  cent 
per  cent !  (And  Uncle  Jack  stretches  out  those  famous 
smooth  hands  of  his,  with  a  tremulous  motion  of  the  ten  elo- 
quent fingers.) 

PisiSTRATUS. — Ah  !  my  dear  uncle,  if  you  repent — 

Uncle  Jack. — Repent  !  when  I  offer  you  cent  percent,  on 
my  personal  guarantee  ! 

PisiSTRATUS  (carefully  putting  the  bills  into  his  breast  coat 
pocket), — Then,  if  you  don't  repent,  my  dear  uncle,  allow  me 
to  shake  you  by  the  hand,  and  say  that  I  will  not  consent  to 
lessen  my  esteem  and  admiration  for  the  high  principle  which 
prompts  this  restitution,  by  confounding  it  with  trading  asso- 
ciations of  loans,  interests,  and  copper  mines.  And,  you  see, 
since  this  sum  is  paid  to  my  father,  I  have  no  right  to  invest  it 
without  his  permission. 

Uncle  Jack  (with  emotion). — "Esteem,  admiration,  high 
principle  ! " — these  are  pleasant  words,  from  you,  nephew. 
(Then,  shaking  his  head,  and  smiling) — You  sly  dog  !  you  are 
quite  right :  get  the  bills  cashed  at  once.  And  hark  ye,  sir, 
just  keep  out  of  my  way,  will  you  ?  And  don't  let  me  coax 
from  you  a  farthing.  (Uncle  Jack  slams  the  door  and  rushes 
out.  Pisistratus  draws  the  bills  warily  from  his  pocket,  half- 
suspecting  they  must  already  have  turned  into  withered  leaves, 
like  fairy  money  ;  slowly  convinces  himself  that  the  bills  are 
good  bills  ;  and,  by  lively  gestures,  testifies  his  delight  and 
astonishment).     Scene  changes. 


PART  EIGHTEENTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Adieu,  thou  beautiful  land  !  Canaan  of  the  exiles,  and 
Ararat  to  many  a  shattered  Ark  !  Fair  cradle  of  a  race  for 
whom  the  unbounded  heritage  of  a  future,  that  no  sage  can 
conjecture,  no  prophet  divine,  lies  afar  in  the  golden  promise- 
light  of  Time  ! — destined,  perchance,  from  the  sins  and  sorrows 
of  a  civilization  struggling  with  its  own  elements  of  decay,  to 
renew  the  youth  of  the'  world,  and  transmit  the  great  soul  of 


Tllii:    CAXTONS.  431 

England  throu;:;,h  the  cycles  of  Infinite  Change.  All  climates 
that  can  best  ripen  the  products  of  earth,  or  form  into  various 
character  and  temper  the  different  families  of  man,  "rain  in- 
fluences "  from  the  heaven,  that  smiles  so  benignly  on  those 
who  had  once  shrunk,  ragged,  from  the  wind,  or  scowled  on 
the  thankless  sun.  Here,  the  hardy  air  of  the  chill  Mother 
Isle,  there  the  mild  warmth  of  Italian  autumns,  or  the  breath- 
less glow  of  the  tropics.  And  with  the  beams  of  every  climate, 
glides  subtle  Hope.  Of  her  there,  it  may  be  said,  as  of  Light 
itself,  in  those  exquisite  lines  of  a  neglected  poet : 

"  Through  the  soft  ways  of  heaven,  and  air,  and  sea, 
Which  open  all  liieir  pores  to  thee  ; 
Like  a  clear  river  thou  dost  glide — 


All  the  world's  bravery  that  delights  our  eyes, 

Is  but  thy  several  liveries  ; 

Thou  the  rich  dye  on  them  bestowest ; 

Thy  nimble  pencil  paints  the  landscape  as  thou  goest."* 

Adieu,  my  kind  nurse  and  sweet  foster-mother  ! — a  long  and  a 
last  adieu  !  Never  had  I  left  thee  but  for  that  louder  voice  of 
Nature  which  calls  the  child  to  the  parent,  and  woos  us  from 
the  labors  we  love  the  best  by  the  chime  in  the  Sabbath-bells 
of  Home. 

No  one  can  tell  how  dear  the  memory  of  that  wild  Bush  life 
becomes  to  him  who  has  tried  it  with  a  fitting  spirit.  How 
often  it  haunts  him  in  the  commonplace  of  more  civilized 
scenes!  Its  dangers,  its  risks,  its  sense  of  animal  health,  its 
bursts  of  adventure,  its  intervals  of  careless  repose  :  the  fierce 
gallop  through  a  very  sea  of  wide  rolling  plains ;  the  still 
saunter,  at  night,  through  woods  never  changing  their  leaves  ; 
with  the  moon,  clear  as  sunshine,  stealing  slant  through  their 
clusters  of  flowers.  AVith  what  an  effort  we  reconcile  our- 
selves to  the  trite  cares  and  vexed  pleasures,  "the  quotidian 
ague  of  frigid  impertinences,"  to  which  we  return  !  How 
strong  and  black  stands  my  pencil-mark  in  this  passage  of  the 
poet  from  whom  I  have  just  quoted  before  ! 

"  We  are  here  among  the  vast  and  noble  scenes  of  Nature — 
we  are  there  among  the  pitiful  shifts  of  policy  ;  we  walk 
here,  in  the  light  and  open  ways  of  the  Divine  Bounty — we 
grope  there,  in  the  dark  and  confused  labyrinth  of  human 
malice."  f 

*  Cowley's  Ode  to  Light, 

t  Cowley  on  Town  and  Country.    (Discourse  on  Agriculture.) 


432  THE   CAXTONS. 

But  I  weary  you,  reader.  The  New  World  vanishes — now 
a  line — now  a  speck  ;  let  us  turn  away,  with  the  face  to  the 
Old. 

Amongst  my  fellow-passengers,  how  many  there  are  return- 
ing home  disgusted,  disappointed,  impoverished,  ruined,  throw- 
ing themselves  again  on  those  unsuspecting  poor  friends,  who 
thought  they  had  done  with  the  luckless  good-for-naughts 
forever.  For  don't  let  me  deceive  thee,  reader,  into  suppos- 
ing that  every  adventurer  to  Australia  has  the  luck  of  Pisi- 
stratus.  Indeed,  though  the  poor  laborer,  and  especially  the 
poor  operative  from  London  and  the  great  trading  towns  (who 
has  generally  more  of  the  quick  knack  of  learning — the  adapt- 
able faculty — required  in  a  new  colony,  than  the  simple  agri- 
cultural laborer),  are  pretty  sure  to  succeed,  the  class  to  which 
I  belong  is  one  in  which  failures  are  numerous,  and  success 
the  exception — I  mean  young  men  with  scholastic  education 
and  the  habits  of  gentlemen :  with  small  capital  and  sanguine 
hopes.  But  this,  in  ninety-nine  times  out  of  a  hundred,  is  not 
the  fault  of  the  colony,  but  of  the  emigrants.  It  requires,  not 
so  much  intellect  as  a  peculiar  turn  of  intellect,  and  a  fortu- 
nate combination  of  physical  qualities,  easy  temper,  and  quick 
mother-wit,  to  make  a  small  capitalist  a  prosperous  Bushman.* 
And  if  you  could  see  the  sharks  that  swim  round  a  man  just 
dropped  at  Adelaide  or  Sydney,  with  one  or  two  thousand 
pounds  in  his  pocket  I  Hurry  out  of  the  towns  as  fast  as  you 
can,  my  young  emigrant ;  turn  a  deaf  ear,  for  the  present  at 
least,  to  all  jobbers  and  speculators  ;  make  friends  with  some 
practised  old  Bushman  ;  spend  several  months  at  his  station 
before  you  hazard  your  capital  ;  take  with  you  a  temper  to 
bear  everything  and  sigh  for  nothing  ;  put  your  whole  heart 
in  what  you  are  about  ;  never  call  upon  Hercules  when  your 
cart  sticks  in  the  rut,  and,  whether  you  feed  sheep  or  breed 
cattle,  your  success  is  but  a  question  of  time. 

But,  whatever  I  owed  to  nature,  I  owed  also  something  to 
fortune.  I  bought  my  sheep  at  little  more  than  7s.  each. 
When  I  left,  none  were  worth  less  than  15s.,  and  the  fat  sheep 

•  How  true  are  the  following  remarks  : 

"  Action  is  the  first  great  requisite  of  a  colonist  (that  is,  a  pastoral  or  agricultural  settler). 
With  a  young  man,  the  tone  of  his  mind  is  more  important  than  his  previous  pursuits.  I 
have  known  men  of  an  active,  energetic,  contented  disposition,  with  a  good  flow  of  animal 
spirits,  who  had  been  bred  in  luxurj'  and  refinement,  succeed  better  than  men  bred  as  far- 
mers, who  were  always  hankering  aiter  bread  and  beer,  and  market  ordinaries  of  Old  En- 
gland. .  .  .  To  be  dreaming  when  you  should  be  looking  after  your  cattle  is  a  terrible 
drawback.  .  .  .  There  are  certain  persons  who,  too  lazy  and  too  extravagant  to  succeed 
in  Europe,  sail  for  Australia  under  the  idea  that  fortunes  are  to  be  made  there  by  a  sort  of 
legerdemain,  spend  or  lose  their  capital  in  a  very  short  space  of  time,  and  return  to  England 
to  abuse  the  place,  the  people,  and  everything  connected  with  colonization." — "  Sidney's 
Australian  Handbook  " — admirable  for  its  wisdom  and  compactness. 


tHE  CAXTONS.  433 

were  worth  ;^i.*  I  had  an  excellent  shepherd,  and  my  whole 
care,  night  and  day,  was  the  improvement  of  the  flock.  1  was 
fortunate,  too,  in  entering  Australia  before  the  system  mis- 
called "  The  Wakefield  "f  had  diminished  the  supply  of  labor, 
and  raised  the  price  of  land.  When  the  change  came  (like 
most  of  those  with  large  allotments  and  surplus  capital),  it 
greatly  increased  the  value  of  my  own  property,  though  at  the 
cost  of  a  terrible  blow  on  the  general  interests  of  the  colony. 
I  was  lucky,  too,  in  the  additional  venture  of  a  cattle-station, 
and  in  the  breed  of  horses  and  herds,  which,  in  the  five  years 
devoted  to  that  branch  establishment,  trebled  the  sum  invested 
therein,  exclusive  of  the  advantageous  sale  of  the  station. J  I 
was  lucky,  also,  as  I  have  stated,  in  the  purchase  and  re-sale 
of  lands,  at  Uncle  Jack's  recommendation.  And,  lastly,  I  left 
in  time,  and  escaped  a  very  disastrous  crisis  in  colonial  affairs, 
which  I  take  the  liberty  of  attributing  entirely  to  the  mischiev- 
ous crochets  of  theorists  at  home,  who  want  to  set  all  clocks 
by  Greenwich  time,  forgetting  that  it  is  morning  in  one  part 
of  the  world  at  the  time  they  are  tolling  the  curfew  in  the  other. 


CHAPTER  II. 

London  once  more  !  How  strange,  lone,  and  savage  I  feel 
in  the  streets  !  I  am  ashamed  to  have  so  much  health  and 
strength,  when  I   look  at  those  slim  forms,  stooping  backs 

*  Lest  this  seem  an  exaggeration,  I  venture  to  annex  an  extract  from  a  MS.  letter  to  the 
author  from  Mr.  George  Blakeston  Wilkinson,  author  of  "  South  Australia  ": 

"  I  will  instance  the  case  of  one  person,  who  had  been  a  farmer  in  England,  and  emi- 
grated with  about  ;£2ooo  about  seven  years  since.  On  his  arrival,  he  found  that  the  prices 
of  sheep  had  fallen  from  about  30s.  to  ss.  or6s.  per  head,  and  he  bought  some  well-bred 
flocks  at  these  prices.  He  was  fortunate  in  obtaining  a  good  and  extensive  run,  and  he 
devoted  the  whole  of  his  time  to  improving  his  flocks,  and  encouraged  his  shepherds  by 
rewards  ;  so  that,  in  about  four  years,  his  original  number  of  sheep  had  increased  from  2500 
(which  cost  him  ;{[70o)  to  7000  ;  and  the  breed  and  wool  were  also  so  much  improved,  that 
he  could  oblain  £1  per  head  for  2000  fat  sheep,  and  15s.  per  head  for  the  other  5000,  and  this 
at  a  time  when  the  general  price  of  sheep  was  from  los.  to  i6s.  This  alone  increased  his 
original  capital,  invested  in  sheep,  from  ;C7O0  to  ;£5700.  The  profits  from  the  wool  paid  the 
whole  of  his  expenses  and  wnges  for  his   men." 

t  I  felt  sure  from  the  first,  that  the  system  called  •'  The  Wakefield  "  could  never  fairly 
represent  the  ideas  of  Mr.  Wakefield  himself,  whose  singular  breadth  of  understanding, 
and  various  knowledge  of  mankind,  belied  the  notion  that  fathered  on  him  the  clumsy 
execution  of  a  theory  wholly  inapplicable  to  a  social  state  like  Australia.  1  am  glad  to  see 
that  he  has  vindicated  himself  from  the  discreditable  paternity.  But  I  grieve  to  find  that 
he  still  clings  to  one  cardmal  error  of  the  system,  in  the  discouragement  of  small  holdings, 
and  that  he  evades,  more  ingeniously  than  ingenuously,  the  important  question  :  "  What 
should  be  the  minimum  price  of  land  ?  " 

X  "  The  profits  of  cattle-farming  are  smaller  than  those  of  the  sheep-owner  (if  the  latter 
have  eood  luck,  for  much  depends  upon  that),  but  cattle-farming  is  much  more  safe  as  a 
speculation,  and  less  care,  knowledge,  and  management  are  required.  ;^2ooo,  laid  out  on 
700  head  of  cattle,  if  good  runs  be  procured,  might  increase  the  capital  in  five  years  front 
;£30oo  to  ;C6ooo,  besides  enabling  the  owner  to  maintain  himself,  pay  wages,  etc." — MS.. 
letter  from  G.  B.  Wilkinson. 


434  T"E     CAXTONS. 

and  pale  faces.  I  pick  my  way  through  the  crowd  with  th6 
merciful  timidity  of  a  good-natured  giant.  I  am  afraid  of 
jostling  against  a  man,  for  fear  the  collision  should  kill  him. 
I  get  out  of  the  way  of  a  thread-paper  clerk,  and  'tis  a  wonder 
I  am  not  run  over  by  the  omnibuses — I  feel  as  if  I  could  run 
over  them !  I  perceive,  too,  that  there  is  something  out- 
landish, peregrinate,  and  lawless  about  me.  Beau  Brummell 
would  certainly  have  denied  me  all  pretension  to  the  simple  air 
of  a  gentleman,  for  every  third  passenger  turns  back  to  look 
at  me.  I  retreat  to  my  hotel — send  for  boot-maker,  hatter, 
tailor,  and  hair-cutter.  I  humanize  myself  from  head  to  foot. 
Even  Ulysses  is  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the  arts  of  Mi- 
nerva, and,  to  speak  unmetaphorically,  "smarten  himself  up," 
before  the  faithful  Penelope  condescends  to  acknowledge  him. 

The  artificers  promise  all  despatch.  Meanwhile,  I  hasten 
to  re-make  acquaintance  with  my  mother  country  over  files  of 
the  Times,  Post,  Chronicle,  and  Herald.  Nothing  comes  amiss 
to  me,  but  articles  on  Australia  ;  from  those  I  turn  aside  with 
the  true  pshaw-supercilious  of  your  practical  man. 

No  more  are  leaders  filled  with  praise  and  blame  of 
Trevanion.  "  Percy's  spur  is  cold."  Lord  Ulverstone  figures 
only  in  the  Court  Circular,  or  "  Fashionable  Movements." 
Lord  Ulverstone  entertains  a  royal  duke  at  dinner,  or  dines  in 
turn  with  a  royal  duke,  or  has  come  to  town,  or  gone  out  of  it. 
At  most  (faint  Platonic  reminiscence  of  the  former  life).  Lord 
Ulverstone  says  in  the  House  of  Lords  a  few  words  on  some 
question,  not  a  party  one  ;  and  on  which  (though  affecting 
perhaps  the  interests  of  some  few  thousands,  or  millions,  as 
the  case  maybe)  men  speak  without  "  hears,"  and  are  inaudible 
in  the  gallery  ;  or  Lord  Ulverstone  takes  the  chair  at  an  agri- 
cultural meeting,  or  returns  thanks  when  his  health  is  drunk 
at  a  dinner  at  Guildhall.  But  the  daughter  rises  as  the  father 
sets,  though  over  a  very  different  kind  of  world. 

"  First  ball  of  the  season  at  Castleton  House  !  "  Long 
description  of  the  rooms  and  the  company ;  above  all,  of  the 
hostess.  Lines  on  the  Marchioness  of  Castleton's  picture  in 
the  "  Book  of  Beauty,"  by  the  Hon.  Fitzroy  Fiddledum,  begin- 
ning with  "  Art  thou  an  angel  from,"  etc. — a  paragraph  that 
pleased  me  more,  on  "  Lady  Castleton's  Infant  School  at  Raby 
Park";  then  again:  "Lady  Castleton,  the  new  patroness  at 
Almack's  ";  a  criticism  more  rapturous  than  ever  gladdened 
living  poet,  on  Lady  Castleton's  superb  diamond  stomacher, 
just  reset  by  Storr  and  Mortimer  ;  Westmacott's  bust  of  Lady 
Castleton  ;  Landseer's  picture  of  Lady  Castleton  and  her  chil- 


THE    CAXTONS.  435 

dren,  in  the  costume  of  the  olden  time.  Not  a  month  in  that 
long  file  of  the  Morning  Post  but  what  Lady  Castleton  shone 
forth  from  the  rest  of  womankind — 

"  Velut  inter  ignes 
Luna  minores." 

The  blood  mounted  to  my  cheek.  Was  it  to  this  splendid 
constellation  in  the  patrician  heaven  that  my  obscure,  portion- 
less youth  had  dared  to  lift  its  presumptuous  eyes  ?  But  what 
is  this  ?  "  Indian  Intelligence — Skilful  retreat  of  the  Sepoys 
under  Captain  de  Caxton  !"  A  captain  already — what  is  the 
date  of  the  newspaper  ? — three  months  ago.  The  leading 
article  quotes  the  name  with  high  praise.  Is  there  no  leaven 
of  envy  amidst  the  joy  at  my  heart  ?  How  obscure  has  been 
my  career — how  laurelless  my  poor  battle  with  adverse  for- 
tune !  Fie,  Pisistratus  !  I  am  ashamed  of  thee.  Has  this 
accursed  Old  World,  with  its  feverish  rivalries,  diseased  thee 
already  ?  Get  thee  home,  quick,  to  the  arms  of  thy  mother, 
the  embrace  of  thy  father — hear  Roland's  low  blessing,  that 
thou  hast  helped  to  minister  to  the  very  fame  of  that  son.  If 
thou  wilt  have  ambition,  take  it,  not  soiled  and  foul  with  the 
mire  of  London.  Let  it  spring  fresh  and  hardy  in  the  calm  air 
of  wisdom  ;  and  fed,  as  with  dews,  by  the  loving  charities  of 
Home. 


CHAPTER  in. 

It  was  at  sunset  that  I  stole  through  the  ruined  courtyard, 
having  left  my  chaise  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  below.  Though 
they  whom  I  came  to  seek  knew  that  I  had  arrived  in  England, 
they  did  not,  from  my  letter,  expect  me  till  the  next  day.  I 
had  stolen  a  march  upon  them  ;  and  now,  in  spite  of  all  the 
impatience  which  had  urged  me  thither,  I  was  afraid  to 
enter — afraid  to  see  the  change  more  than  ten  years  had 
made  in  those  forms,  for  which,  in  my  memory.  Time  had 
stood  still.  And  Roland  had,  even  when  we  parted, 
grown  old  before  his  time.  Then,  my  father  was  in  the 
meridian  of  life,  now  he  had  approached  to  the  decline. 
And  my  mother,  whom  I  remembered  so  fair,  as  if  the  fresh- 
ness of  her  own  heart  had  preserved  the  soft  bloom  to  the 
cheek — I  could  not  bear  to  think  that  she  was  no  longer  young. 
Blanche,  too,  whom  I  had  left  a  child — Blanche,  my  constant 
correspondent  during  those  long  years  of  exile,  in  letters  crossed 
and  re-crossed,  with  all  the  small  details  that  make  the  elo- 


43fJ  THE   CAXTONS. 

qiience  of  letter-writing,  so  that  in  those  epistles  T  had  seen  her 
mind  gradually  grow  up  in  harmony  with  the  very  characters; 
at  first  vague  and  infantine,  then  somewhat  stiff  with  the  first 
graces  of  running  hand,  then  dashing  off,  free  and  facile  ;  and, 
for  the  last  year  before  I  left,  so  formed,  yet  so  airy — so  regu- 
lar, yet  so  unconscious  of  effort — though,  in  truth,  as  the  cali- 
graphy  had  become  thus  matured,  I  had  been  half  vexed  and 
half  pleased  to  perceive  a  certain  reserve  creeping  over  the 
style — wishes  for  my  return  less  expressed  from  herself  than 
as  messages  from  others  ;  words  of  the  old  child-like  familia- 
rity repressed  ;  and  "  Dearest  Sisty  "  abandoned  for  the  cold 
form  of  "  Dear  Cousin."  Those  letters,  coming  to  me  in  a 
spot  where  maiden  and  love  had  been  as  myths  of  the  by-gone, 
phantasms  and  etdola,  only  vouchsafed  to  the  visions  of  fancy, 
had,  by  little  and  little,  crept  into  secret  corners  of  my  heart ; 
and  out  of  the  wrecks  of  a  former  romance,  solitude  and 
revery  had  gone  far  to  build  up  the  fairy  domes  of  a  romance 
yet  to  come.  My  mother's  letters  had  never  omitted  to  make 
mention  of  Blanche  ;  of  her  forethought  and  tender  activity  ; 
of  her  warm  heart  and  sweet  temper  ;  and,  in  many  a  little 
home  picture,  presented  her  image  where  I  would  fain  have 
placed  it,  not  "  cry.stal  seeing,"  but  joining  my  mother  in  chari- 
table visits  to  the  village,  instructing  the  young,  and  tending 
on  the  old,  or  teaching  herself  to  illuminate,  from  an  old  mis- 
sal in  my  father's  collection,  that  she  might  surprise  my  uncle 
with  a  new  genealogical  table,  with  all  shields  and  quarterings, 
blazoned  or,  sable,  and  argent ;  or  flitting  round  my  father 
where  he  sat,  and  watching  when  he  looked  round  for  some 
book  he  was  too  lazy  to  rise  for.  Blanche  had  made  a  new 
catalogue,  and  got  it  by  heart,  and  knew  at  once  from  what 
corner  of  the  Heraclea  to  summon  the  ghost.  On  all  these 
little  traits  had  my  mother  been  eulogistically  minute  ;  but 
somehow  or  other  she  had  never  said,  at  least  for  the  last  two 
years,  whether  Blanche  was  pretty  or  plain.  That  was  a  sad 
omission.  I  had  longed  just  to  ask  that  simple  question,  or  to 
imply  it  delicately  and  diplomatically  ;  but,  I  know  not  why,  I 
never  dared — for  Blanche  would  have  been  sure  to  have  read 
the  letter,  and  what  business  was  it  of  mine?  And  if  she  was 
ugly,  what  question  more  awkward  both  to  put  and  to  answer  ? 
Now,  in  childhood,  Blanche  had  just  one  of  those  faces  that 
might  become  very  lovely  in  youth,  and  would  yet  quite  justify 
the  suspicion  that  it  might  become  gryphonesque,  witch  like, 
and  grim.  Yes,  Blanche,  it  is  perfectly  true  !  If  those  large, 
serious  black  eyes  took  a  fierce  light,  instead  of  a  tender  ;  if 


THE    CAXTONS.  437 

that  nose,  which  seemed  then  undecided  whether  to  be  straight 
or  to  be  aquiline,  arched  off  in  the  latter  direction,  and 
assumed  the  martial,  Roman,  and  imperative  character  of 
Roland's  manly  proboscis ;  if  that  face,  in  childhood  too  thin, 
left  the  blushes  of  youth  to  take  refuge  on  two  salient  peaks 
by  the  temples  (Cumberland  air,  too,  is  famous  for  the  growth 
of  the  cheekbone  !) — if  all  that  should  happen,  and  it  very  well 
might,  then,  O  Blanche,  I  wish  thou  hadst  never  written  me 
those  letters  ;  and  I  might  have  done  wiser  things  than  steel 
my  heart  so  obdurately  to  pretty  Ellen  Bolding's  blue  eyes 
and  silk  shoes.  Now,  combining  together  all  these  doubts 
and  apprehensions,  wonder  not,  O  reader,  why  I  stole  so 
stealthily  through  the  ruined  court-yard,  crept  round  to  the 
other  side  of  the  Tower,  gazed  wistfully  on  the  stm  setting 
slant,  on  the  high  casements  of  the  hall  (too  high,  alas !  to 
look  within),  and  shrunk  yet  to  enter ; — doing  battle,  as  it 
were,  with  my  heart. 

Steps  !  One's  sense  of  hearing  grows  so  quick  in  the  Bush- 
land  !  steps,  though  as  light  as  ever  brushed  the  dew  from  the 
harebell  !  I  crept  under  the  shadow  of  the  huge  buttress 
mantled  with  ivy.  A  form  comes  from  the  little  door  at  an 
angle  in  the  ruins — a  woman's  form.  Is  it  my  mother  ?  It  is 
too  tall,  and  the  step  is  more  bounding.  It  winds  round  the 
building,  it  turns  to  look  back,  and  a  sweet  voice — a  voice 
strange,  yet  familiar,  calls,  tender  but  chiding,  to  a  truant  that 
lags  behind.  Poor  Juba  !  he  is  trailing  his  long  ears  on  the 
ground  ;  he  is  evidently  much  disturbed  in  his  mind  ;  now  he 
stands  still,  his  nose  in  the  air.  Poor  Juba  !  I  left  thee  so 
slim  and  so  nimble  : 

"  Thy  form,  that  was  fashioned  as  light  as  a  fay's, 
Has  assumed  a  proportion  more  round  "; 

years  have  sobered  thee  strangely,  and  made  thee  obese  and 
Primmins-like.  They  have  taken  too  good  care  of  thy  creat- 
ure comforts,  O  sensual  Mauritanian  !  Still,  in  that  mystic 
intelligence  we  call  instinct,  thou  art  chasing  something  that 
years  have  not  swept  from  thy  memory.  Thou  art  deaf  to 
thy  lady's  voice,  however  tender  and  chiding.  That's  right, 
come  near — nearer — my  Cousin  Blanche ;  let  me  have  a  fair 
look  at  thee.  Plague  take  the  dog!  he  flies  off  from  her  :  he 
has  found  the  scent,  he  is  making  up  to  the  buttress  !  Now — 
pounce — he  is  caught ! — whining  ungallant  discontent.  Shall 
I  not  yet  see  the  face!  it  is  buried  in  Juba's  black  curls. 
Kisses  too !     Wicked  Blanche !  to  waste  on  a  dumb  animal 


43^  THE   CAXTONS. 

what,  I  heartily  hope,  many  a  good  Christian  would  be 
exceedingly  glad  of  !  Juba  struggles  in  vain,  and  is  borne  off ! 
I  don't  think  that  those  eyes  can  have  taken  the  fierce  turn, 
and  Roland's  eagle  nose  can  never  go  with  that  voice,  which 
has  the  coo  of  the  dove. 

I  leave  my  hiding-place,  and  steal  after  the  Voice,  and  its 
owner.  Where  can  she  be  going  ?  Not  far.  She  springs  up 
the  hill  whereon  the  lords  of  the  castle  once  administered  jus- 
tice— that  hill  which  commands  the  land  far  and  wide,  and 
from  which  can  be  last  caught  the  glimpse  of  the  westering 
sun.  How  gracefully  still  is  that  attitude  of  wistful  repose  ! 
Into  what  delicate  curves  do  form  and  drapery  harmoniously 
flow  !  How  softly  distinct  stands  the  lithe  image  against  the 
purple  hues  of  the  sky  !  Then  again  comes  the  sweet  voice, 
gay  and  carolling  as  a  bird's — now  in  snatches  of  song,  now 
in  playful  appeals  to  that  dull,  four-footed  friend.  She  is 
telling  him  something  that  must  make  the  black  ears  stand  on 
end,  for  I  just  catch  the  words  :  "  He  is  coming,"  and  "  home." 

I  cannot  see  the  sun  set  where  I  lurk  in  my  ambush,  amidst 
the  brake  and  the  ruins;  but  I /<?^/ that  the  orb  has  passed 
from  the  landscape,  in  the  fresher  air  of  the  twilight,  in  the 
deeper  silence  of  eve.  Lo  !  Hesper  comes  forth  ;  at  his  signal, 
star  after  star,  come  the  hosts  : 

"  Ch'eran  con  lui,  quando  I'amor  divino, 
Mosse  da  primi  quelle  cose  belle  !  " 

And  the  sweet  voice  is  hushed. 

Then  slowly  the  watcher  descends  the  hill  on  the  opposite 
side — the  form  escapes  from  my  view.  What  charm  has  gone 
from  the  twilight  ?  See,  again,  where  the  step  steals  through 
the  ruins  and  along  the  desolate  court.  Ah  !  deep  and  true 
heart,  do  I  divine  the  remembrance  that  leads  thee?  I  pass 
through  the  wicket,  down  the  dell,  skirt  the  laurels,  and  behold 
the  face,  looking  up  to  the  stars — the  face  which  had  nestled 
to  my  breast  in  the  sorrow  of  parting  years,  long  years  ago  : 
on  the  grave  where  we  had  sat,  I  the  boy,  thou  the  infant — 
there,  O  Blanche  !  is  thy  fair  face  (fairer  than  the  fondest 
dream  that  had  gladdened  my  exile)  vouchsafed  to  my  gaze  ! 

"  Blanche,  my  cousin  ! — again,  again — soul  with  soul,  amidst 
the  dead  !     Look  up,  Blanche  ;  it  is  I." 

CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Go  in  first  and  prepare  them,  dear  Blanche  ;  I  will  wait 
by  the  door.     Leave  it  ajar,  that  I  may  see  them." 


THE   CAXTONS.  439 

Roland  is  leaning  against  the  wall — old  armor  suspended 
over  the  gray  head  of  the  soldier.  It  is  but  a  glance  that  I 
give  to  the  dark  cheek  and  high  brow  ;  no  change  there  for 
the  worse — no  new  sign  of  decay.  Rather,  if  anything,  Roland 
seems  younger  than  when  1  left.  Calm  is  the  brow — no  shame 
on  it  now,  Roland  ;  and  the  lips,  once  so  compressed,  smile 
with  ease — no  struggle  now,  Roland,  "not  to  complain."  A 
glance  shows  me  all  this. 

*'  Papze  !  "  says  my  father,  and  I  hear  the  fall  of  a  book,  "  I 
can't  read  a  line.  He  is  coming  to-morrow  ! — to-morrow  !  If 
we  lived  to  the  age  of  Methuselah,  Kitty,  we  could  never 
reconcile  philosophy  and  man  ;  that  is,  if  the  poor  man's  to  be 
plagued  with  a  good,  affectionate  son  !  " 

And  my  father  gets  up  and  walks  to  and  fro.  One  minute 
more,  father — one  minute  more — and  I  am  on  thy  breast  ! 
Time,  too,  has  dealt  gently  with  thee,  as  he  doth  with  those 
for  whom  the  wild  passions  and  keen  cares  of  the  world  never 
sharpen  his  scythe.  The  broad  front  looks  more  broad,  for 
the  locks  are  more  scanty  and  thin  ;  but  still  not  a  furrow. 

Whence  comes  that  short  sigh  ! 

"  What  is  really  the  time,  Blanche  ?  Did  you  look  at  the 
turret  clock  ?     Well,  just  go  and  look  again." 

"  Kitty,"  quoth  my  father,  "  you  have  not  only  asked  what 
time  it  is  thrice  within  the  last  ten  minutes,  but  you  have  got 
my  watch,  and  Roland's  great  chronometer,  and  the  Dutch 
clock  out  of  the  kitchen,  all  before  you,  and  they  all  concur  in 
the  same  tale — to-day  is  not  to-morrow." 

"  They  are  all  wrong,  I  know,"  said  my  mother,  with  mild 
firmness  ;  "and  they've  never  gone  right  since  he  left." 

Now  out  comes  a  letter — for  I  hear  the  rustle — and  then  a 
step  glides  towards  the  lamp  ;  and  the  dear,  gentle,  womanly 
face — fair  still,  fair  ever  for  me — fair  as  when  it  bent  over  my 
pillow,  in  childhood's  first  sickness,  or  when  we  threw  flowers 
at  each  other  on  the  lawn,  at  sunny  noon  !  And  now  Blanche 
is  whispering  ;  and  now  the  flutter,  the  start,  the  cry  :  "  It  is 
true  !  it  is  true  I  Your  arms,  mother.  Close,  close  round  my 
neck,  as  in  the  old  time.  Father  !  Roland,  too !  Oh,  joy  ! 
joy  !  joy  !  home  again — home  till  death  I " 

CHAPTER.  V. 

From  a  dream  of  the  Bushland,  howling  dingoes,*  and  the 
war-whoop  of  the  wild  men,  I  wake  and  see  the  sun  shining  in 

*  Dingoet — the  name  given  by  Australian  natives  to  the  wild  dogs. 


44°  THE    CAXTONS. 

through  the  jasmine  that  Blanche  herself  has  had  trained 
round  the  window — old  school-books,  neatly  ranged  round 
the  vrall,  fishing-rods,  cricket-bats,  foils,  and  the  old-fashioned 
gun — and  my  mother  seated  by  the  bedside — and  Juba  whin- 
ing and  scratching  to  get  up.  Had  I  taken  thy  murmured 
blessing,  my  mother,  for  the  whoop  of  the  blacks,  and  Juba's 
low  whine  for  the  howl  of  the  dingoes  ? 

Then  what  days  of  calm,  exquisite  delight ! — the  interchange 
of  heart  with  heart ;  what  walks  with  Roland,  and  tales  of  him 
once  our  shame,  now  our  pride  ;  and  the  art  with  which  the 
old  man  would  lead  those  walks  round  by  the  village,  that 
some  favorite  gossips  might  stop  and  ask  :  "  What  news  of  his 
brave  young  honor  ?  " 

I  strive  to  engage  my  uncle  in  my  projects  for  the  repair  of 
the  ruins,  for  the  culture  of  those  wide  bogs  and  moorlands: 
why  is  it  that  he  turns  away  and  looks  down  embarrassed  ? 
Ah,  I  guess  ! — his  true  heir  now  is  restored  to  him.  He 
cannot  consent  that  I  should  invest  this  dross,  for  which  (the 
Great  Book  once  published)  I  have  no  other  use,  in  the  house 
and  the  lands  that  will  pass  to  his  son.  Neither  would  he 
suffer  me  so  to  invest  even  his  son's  fortune,  the  bulk  of  which 
I  still  hold  in  trust  for  that  son.  True,  in  his  career,  my  cousin 
may  require  to  have  his  money  always  forthcoming.  But  / 
who  have  no  career — pooh  !  these  scruples  will  rob  me  of 
half  the  pleasure  my  years  of  toil  were  to  purchase.  I  must 
contrive  it  somehow  or  other  :  what  if  he  would  let  me  house 
and  moorland  on  a  long  improving  lease  ?  Then,  for  the  rest, 
there  is  a  pretty  little  property  to  be  sold  close  by,  on  which  I 
can  retii'e,  when  my  cousin,  as  heir  of  the  family,  comes,  per- 
haps with  a  wife,  to  reside  at  the  Tower.  I  must  consider  of 
all  this,  and  talk  it  over  with  Bolt,  when  my  mind  is  at  leisure 
from  happiness  to  turn  to  such  matters  ;  meanwhile  I  fall  back 
on  my  favorite  proverb  :  "  Where  there's  a  ivill  there's  a  way.'' 

What  smiles  and  tears,  and  laughter,  and  careless  prattle 
with  my  mother,  and  roundabout  questions  from  her,  to  know 
if  I  had  never  lost  my  heart  in  the  Bush  ?  And  evasive 
answers  from  me,  to  punish  her  for  not  letting  out  that  Blanche 
was  so  charming.  "  I  fancied  Blanche  had  grown  the  image 
of  her  father,  who  has  a  fine  martial  head  certainl)',  but  not 
seen  to  advantage  in  petticoats  !  How  could  you  be  so  silent 
with  a  theme  so  attractive  ? " 

"  Blanche  made  me  promise." 

Why,  I  wonder.     Therewith  I  fell  musing. 

What  quiet,  delicious  hours  are  spent  with  my  father  in  his 


THE  CAXTONS.  44t 

study,  or  by  the  pond,  where  he  still  feeds  the  carps,  that  have 
grown  into  Cyprinidian  leviathans.  The  duck,  alas  !  has 
departed  this  life — the  only  victim  that  the  Grim  King  has 
carried  off  ;  so  .1  mourn,  but  am  resigned  to  that  lenient  com- 
position of  the  great  tribute  to  Nature.  I  am  sorry  to  say  the 
Great  Book  has  advanced  but  slowly — by  no  means  yet  fit  for 
publication,  for  it  is  resolved  that  it  shall  not  come  out  as  first 
proposed,  a  part  at  a  time,  but  totus,  teres,  atque  roiundus.  The 
matter  has  spread  beyond  its  original  compass  ;  no  less  than 
five  volumes — and  those  of  the  amplest — will  contain  the 
History  of  Human  Error.  However,  we  are  far  in  the  fourth, 
and  one  must  not  hurry  Minerva. 

My  father  is  enchanted  with  Uncle  Jack's  "  noble  conduct," 
as  he  calls  it ;  but  he  scolds  me  for  taking  the  money,  and 
doubts  as  to  the  propriety  of  returning  it.  In  these  matters 
my  father  is  quite  as  Quixotical  as  Roland.  I  am  forced  to 
call  in  my  mother  as  umpire  between  us,  and  she  settles  the 
matter  at  once  by  an  appeal  to  feeling.  "  Ah  Austin  !  do  you 
not  humble  me,  if  you  are  too  proud  to  accept  what  is  due  to 
you  from  my  brother  !  " 

"  Velit,  no/it,  quod  arnica"  answered  my  father,  taking  off  and 
rubbing  his  spectacles — "  which  means,  Kitty,  that  when  a 
man's  married  he  has  no  will  of  his  own.  To  think,"  added  Mr, 
Caxton  musingly,  "that  in  this  world  one  cannot  be  sure  of 
the  simplest  mathematical  definition  I  You  see,  Pisistratus, 
that  the  angles  of  a  triangle  so  decidedly  scalene  as  your 
Uncle  Jack's,  may  be  equal  to  the  angles  of  a  right-angled 
triangle  after  all  !  "  * 

The  long  privation  of  books  has  quite  restored  all  my  appe- 
tite for  them.  How  much  I  have  to  pick  up  !  What  a  com- 
pendious scheme  of  reading  I  and  my  father  chalk  out  !  I  see 
enough  to  fill  up  all  the  leisure  of  life.  But,  somehow  or 
other,  Greek  and  Latin  stand  still  :  nothing  charms  me  like 
Italian.  Blanche  and  I  are  reading  Metastasio,  to  the  great 
indignation  of  my  father,  who  calls  it "  rubbish,"  and  wants  to 
substitute  Dante.  I  have  no  associations  at  present  with  the 
souls 

"  Che  son  content! 
Nel  fuoco"; 

I  am  already  one  of  the  "  beate  gente."     Yet,  in  spite  of  Meta- 

*  Not  having  again  to  advert  to  Uncle  Jack,  I  may  be  pardoned  for  informing  the  reader 
by  way  of  annotation,  that  he  continues  to  prosper  surjjrisingly  in  Australia,  though  the 
Tibbets'  Wheal  stands  still  for  want  of  workmen.  Despite  of  a  few  ups  and  downs,  I  have 
had  no  fear  of  his  success  until  this  year  (1849),  when  I  tremble  to  think  what  effect  the 
discovery  of  the  gold  mines  in  California  may  have  on  his  lively  imagination.  If  thou  es* 
capest  that  snare.  Uncle  Jack,  res  age^  tutus  erii, — thou  art  safe  for  life. 


442  THE    CAXTONS. 

stasio,  Blanche  and  I  are  not  so  intimate  as  cousins  ought  to 
be.  If  we  are  by  accident  alone,  I  become  as  silent  as  a 
Turk,  as  formal  as  Sir  Charles  Grandison.  I  caught  myself 
calling  her  Miss  Blanche  the  other  day. 

I  must  not  forget  thee,  honest  Squills  !  nor  thy  delight  at 
my  health  and  success  ;  nor  thy  exclamation  of  pride  (one 
hand  on  my  pulse  and  the  other  griping  hard  the  "  ball  "  of  my 
arm)  :  "  It  all  comes  of  my  citrate  of  iron  ;  nothing  like  it  for 
children  ;  it  has  an  effect  on  the  cerebral  developments  of 
hope  and  combativeness."  Nor  can  I  wholly  omit  mention  of 
poor  Mrs.  Primmins,  who  still  calls  me  "  Master  Sisty,"  and  is 
breaking  her  heart  that  I  will  not  wear  the  new  flannel  waist- 
coats she  had  such  pleasure  in  making  :  "  Young  gentlemen  just 
growing  up  are  so  apt  to  go  off  in  a  galloping  'sumption  !  " 
"  She  knew  just  such  another  as  Master  Sisty,  when  she  lived 
at  Torquay,  who  wasted  away,  and  went  out  like  a  snuff,  all 
because  he  would  not  wear  flannel  waistcoats."  Therewith 
my  mother  looks  grave,  and  says  :  "  One  can't  take  too  much 
precaution." 

Suddenly  the  whole  neighborhood  is  thrown  into  commo- 
tion. Trevanion — I  beg  his  pardon.  Lord  Ulverstone — is 
commg  to  settle  for  good  at  Compton.  Fifty  hands  are  em- 
ployed daily  in  putting  the  grounds  into  hasty  order.  Four- 
gons,  and  wagons,  and  vans  have  disgorged  all  the  necessaries 
a  great  man  requires,  where  he  means  to  eat,  drink,  and 
sleep  ;  books,  wines,  pictures,  furniture.  I  recognize  my  old 
patron  still.  He  is  in  earnest,  whatever  he  does.  I  meet  my 
friend,  his  steward,  who  tells  me  that  Lord  Ulverstone  finds 
his  favorite  seat,  near  London,  too  exposed  to  interruption  ; 
and  moreover,  that,  as  he  has  there  completed  all  improve- 
ments that  wealth  and  energy  can  effect,  he  has  less  occupa- 
tion for  agricultural  pursuits,  to  which  he  has  grown  more  and 
more  partial,  than  on  the  wide  and  princely  domain  which  has 
hitherto  wanted  the  master's  eye.  "  He  is  a  bra'  farmer,  I 
know,"  quoth  the  steward,  "  so  far  as  the  theory  goes  ;  but  I 
don't  think  we  in  the  north  want  great  lords  to  teach  us  how 
to  follow  the  pleugh."  The  steward's  sense  of  dignity  is  huit  ; 
but  he  is  an  honest  fellow,  and  really  glad  to  see  the  family 
come  to  settle  in  the  old  place. 

They  have  arrived,  and  with  them  the  Castletons,  and  a 
whole  posse  coviitatus  of  guests.  The  county  paper  is  full  of 
fine  names. 

"  What  on  earth  did  Lord  Ulverstone  mean  by  pretending 
to  get  out  of  the  way  of  troublesome  visitors  ?  " 


THE   CAXTONS.  44^ 

"My  dear  Pisistratus,"  answered  my  father  to  that  exclama- 
tion, "  it  is  not  the  visitors  who  come,  but  the  visitors  who  stay 
away,  that  most  trouble  the  repose  of  a  retired  minister.  In 
all  the  procession,  he  sees  but  the  images  of  Brutus  and  Cas- 
sius — that  are  not  there  !  And  depend  on  it,  also,  a  retirement 
so  near  London  did  not  make  noise  enough.  You  see,  a  re- 
tiring statesman  is  like  that  fine  carp — the  farther  he  leaps 
from  the  water,  the  greater  splash  he  makes  in  falling  into  the 
weeds  !  But,"  added  Mr.  Caxton,  in  a  repentant  tone,  "this 
jesting  does  not  become  us  ;  and,  if  I  indulged  it,  it  is  only 
because  I  am  heartily  glad  that  Trevanion  is  likely  now  to  find 
out  his  true  vocation.  And  as  soon  as  the  fine  people  he 
brings  with  him  have  left  him  alone  in  his  library,  I  trust  he 
will  settle  to  that  vocation,  and  be  happier  than  he  has  been 
yet." 

"  And  that  vocation,  sir,  is — ? " 

*•  Metaphysics !  "  said  my  father.  "  He  will  be  quite  at 
home  in  puzzling  over  Berkeley,  and  considering  whether  the 
Speaker's  chair,  and  the  official  red  boxes,  were  really  things 
whose  ideas  of  figure,  extension,  and  hardness,  were  all  in  the 
mind.  It  will  be  a  great  consolation  to  him  to  agree  with 
Berkele)^,  and  to  find  that  he  has  only  been  baffled  by  imma- 
terial phantasma ! " 

My  father  was  quite  right.  The  repining,  subtle,  truth- 
weighing  Trevanion,  plagued  by  his  conscience  into  seeing  all 
sides  of  a  question  (for  the  least  question  has  more  than  two 
sides,  and  is  hexagonal  at  least),  was  much  more  fitted  to  dis- 
cover the  origin  of  ideas  than  to  convince  Cabinets  and  Na- 
tions that  two  and  two  make  four — a  proposition  on  which  he 
himself  would  have  agreed  with  Abraham  Tucker,  where  that 
most  ingenious  and  suggestive  of  all  English  metaphysicians 
observes:  "  Well,  persuaded  as  I  am  that  two  and  two  make  four, 
if  I  were  to  meet  with  a  person  of  credit,  candor,  and  under- 
standing, who  should  sincerely  call  it  in  question,  I  would  give 
him  a  hearing  ;  for  I  am  not  more  certain  of  that  than  of  the 
whole  being  greater  than  a  part.  And  yet  I  could  myself  suggest 
some  considerations  that  might  seem  to  controvert  this  point. "  *  I  ca  n 
so  well  imagine  Trevanion  listening  to  "  some  person  of  credit, 
candor,  and  understanding,"  in  disproof  of  that  vulgar 
proposition  that  twice  two  make  four !  But  the  news  of 
this  arrival,  including  that  of   Lady  Castleton,  disturbed  me 

*  "  Light  of  Nature  " — chapter  on  Judgment. — See  the  very  ingenious  illustration  of 
doubt,  "  whether  the  part  is  always  greater  than  the  whole  " — taken  from  time,  or  rather 
eternity. 


444  THE    CAXTONS. 

greatly,  and  I  took  to  long  wanderings  alone.  In  one  of 
these  rambles,  they  all  called  at  the  Tower — Lord  and 
Lady  Ulverstone,  the  Castletons  and  their  children.  I 
escaped  the  visit ;  and  on  my  return  home,  there  was  a 
certain  delicacy  respecting  old  associations  that  restrained 
much  talk,  before  me,  on  so  momentous  an  event.  Roland, 
like  me,  had  kept  out  of  the  way.  Blanche,  poor  child,  igno- 
rant of  the  antecedents,  was  the  most  communicative.  And 
the  especial  theme  she  selected — was  the  grace  and  beauty 
of  Lady  Castleton  ! 

A  pressing  invitation  to  spend  some  days  at  the  castle  had 
been  cordially  given  to  all.  It  was  accepted  only  by  myself : 
I  wrote  word  that  I  would  come. 

Yes  ;  I  longed  to  prove  the  strength  of  my  own  self-conquest, 
and  accurately  test  the  nature  of  the  feelings  that  had  dis- 
turbed me.  That  any  sentiment  which  could  be  called  love 
remained  for  Lady  Castleton,  the  wife  of  another,  and  that 
other  a  man  with  so  many  claims  on  my  affection  as  her  lord, 
I  held  as  a  moral  impossibilit)'.  But,  with  all  those  lively 
impressions  of  early  youth  still  engraved  on  my  heart — impres- 
sions of  the  image  of  Fanny  Trevanion  as  the  fairest  and 
brightest  of  human  beings — could  I  feel  free  to  love  again  ? 
Could  I  seek  to  woo,  and  rivet  to  myself  forever,  the  entire  and 
virgin  affections  of  another,  while  there  was  a  possibility  that  I 
might  compare  and  regret  ?  No ;  either  I  must  feel  that,  if 
Fanny  were  again  single — could  be  mine  without  obstacle, 
human  or  divine — she  had  ceased  to  be  the  one  I  would  single 
out  of  the  world  ;  or,  though  regarding  love  as  the  dead,  I 
would  be  faithful  to  its  memory  and  its  ashes.  My  mother 
sighed,  and  looked  fluttered  and  uneasy  all  the  morning  of  the 
day  on  which  I  was  to  repair  to  Compton.  She  even  seemed 
cross,  for  about  the  third  time  in  her  life,  and  paid  no  compli- 
ment to  Mr.  Stultz,  when  my  shooting-jacket  was  exchanged 
for  a  black  frock,  which  that  artist  had  pronounced  to  be 
"splendid";  neither  did  she  honor  me  with  any  of  those 
little  attentions  to  the  contents  of  my  portmanteau,  and 
the  perfect  "getting  up  "of  my  white  waistcoats  and  cravats, 
which  made  her  natural  instincts  on  such  memorable  occa- 
sions. There  was  also  a  sort  of  querulous,  pitying  tender- 
ness in  her  tone,  when  she  spoke  to  Blanche,  which  was 
quite  pathetic  ;  though,  fortunately,  its  cause  remained  dark 
and  impenetrable  to  the  innocent  com.prehension  of  one 
who  could  not  see  where  the  past  filled  the  urns  of  the  future 
at   the  fountain  of   life.     My  father  understood   me  better, 


THE    CAXTONS.  445 

shook  me  by  the  hand  as  I  got  into  the  chaise,  and  muttered, 
out  of  Seneca  : 

"  Non  tanquam  transfuga,  sed  tanquara  explorator." 
' '  Not  to  desert,  but  examine. " 

Quite  right. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Agreeably  to  the  usual  custom  in  great  houses,  as  soon  as 
I  arrived  at  Compton,  I  was  conducted  to  my  room,  to  adjust 
my  toilet,  or  compose  my  spirits  by  solitude — it  wanted  an  hour 
to  dinner.  I  had  not,  however,  been  thus  left  ten  minutes, 
before  the  door  opened,  and  Trevanion  himself  (as  I  would 
fain  still  call  him)  stood  before  me.  Most  cordial  were  his 
greeting  and  welcome  ;  and,  seating  himself  by  my  side,  he 
continued  to  converse,  in  his  peculiar  way — bluntly  eloquent, 
and  carelessly  learned — till  the  half-hour  bell  rang.  He  talked 
on  Australia;  the  Wakefield  system  ;  cattle  ;  books,  his  trouble 
in  arranging  his  library  ;  his  schemes  for  improving  his  prop- 
erty, and  embellishing  his  grounds  ;  his  delight  to  find  my 
father  look  so  well  ;  his  determination  to  see  a  great  deal  of 
him,  whether  his  old  college  friend  would  or  not.  He  talked, 
in  short,  of  everything  except  politics,  and  his  own  past 
career — showing  only  his  soreness  in  that  silence.  But  (inde- 
pendently of  the  mere  work  of  time)  he  looked  yet  more  worn 
and  jaded  in  his  leisure  than  he  had  done  in  the  full  tide  of 
business  ;  and  his  former  abrupt  quickness  of  manner  now 
seemed  to  partake  of  feverish  excitement.  I  hoped  that  my 
father  would  see  much  of  him,  for  I  felt  that  the  weary  mind 
wanted  soothing. 

Just  as  the  second  bell  rang,  I  entered  the  drawing-room. 
There  were  at  least  twenty  guests  present — each  guest,  no 
doubt,  some  planet  of  fashion  or  fame,  with  satellites  of  its 
own.  But  I  saw  only  two  forms  distinctly  ;  first,  Lord  Cas- 
tleton,  conspicuous  with  star  and  garter — somewhat  ampler 
and  portlier  in  proportions,  and  with  a  frank  dash  of  gray  in 
the  silky  waves  of  his  hair ;  but  still  as  pre-eminent  as  ever 
for  that  beauty — the  charm  of  which  depends  less  than  any 
other  upon  youth — arising,  as  it  does,  from  a  felicitous  com- 
bination of  bearing  and  manner,  and  that  exquisite  suavity  of 
expression  which  steals  into  the  heart,  and  pleases  so  much 
that  it  becomes  a  satisfaction  to  admire  !  Of  Lord  Castleton, 
indeed,  it   might  be  said,  as  of   Alcibiades,  '•  that   he  was 


44^  THE    CAXTONS. 

beautiful  at  every  age."  I  felt  my  breath  come  thick,  and  a 
mist  passed  before  my  eyes,  as  Lord  Castleton  led  me  through 
the  crowd,  and  the  radiant  vision  of  Fanny  Trevanion,  how 
altered — and  how  dazzling  ! — burst  upon  me. 

I  felt  the  light  touch  of  that  hand  of  snow  ;  but  no  guilty 
thrill  shot  through  my  veins.  I  heard  the  voice,  musical  as 
ever — lower  than  it  w^s  once,  and  more  subdued  in  its  key, 
but  steadfast  and  untremulous — it  was  no  longer  the  voice 
that  made  "  my  soul  plant  itself  in  the  ears."  *  The  event  was 
over,  and  I  knew  that  the  dream  had  fled  from  the  waking 
world  forever. 

"  Another  old  friend  !  "  as  Lady  Ulverstone  came  forth  from 
a  little  group  of  children,  leading  one  fine  boy  of  nine  years 
old,  while  one,  two  or  three  years  younger,  clung  to  her  gown. 
"  Another  old  friend  ! — and,"  added  Lady  Ulverstone,  after 
the  first  kind  greetings,  "  two  new  ones  when  the  old  are  gone." 
The  slight  melancholy  left  the  voice,  as,  after  presenting  to 
me  the  little  Viscount,  she  drew  forward  the  more  bashful 
Lord  Albert,  who  indeed  had  something  of  his  grandsire's  and 
namesake's  look  of  refined  intelligence  in  his  brow  and  eyes. 

The  watchful  tact  of  Lord  Castleton  was  quick  in  terminat- 
ing whatever  embarrassment  might  belong  to  these  introduc- 
tions, as,  leaning  lightly  on  my  arm,  he  drew  me  forward,  and 
presented  me  to  the  guests  more  immediately  in  our  neighbor- 
hood, who  seemed  by  their  earnest  cordiality  to  have  been 
already  prepared  for  the  introduction. 

Dinner  was  now  announced,  and  I  welcomed  that  sense  of 
relief  and  segregation  with  which  one  settles  into  one's  own 
"particular"  chair  at  your  large  miscellaneous  entertainment. 
I  stayed  three  days  at  that  house.  How  truly  had  Tre- 
vanion said  that  Fanny  would  make  "an  excellent  great  lady." 
What  perfect  harmony  between  her  manners  and  her  position  ; 
just  retaining  enough  of  the  girl's  seductive  gayety  and 
bewitching  desire  to  please,  to  soften  the  new  dignity  of  bear- 
ing she  had  unconsciously  assumed — less,  after  all,  as  great 
lady,  than  as  wife  and  mother  :  with  a  fine  breeding,  perhaps 
a  little  languid  and  artificial,  as  compared  with  her  lord's, 
which  sprang,  fresh  and  healthful,  wholly  from  nature,  but 
still  so  void  of  all  the  chill  of  condescension,  or  the  subtle 
impertinence  that  belongs  to  that  order  of  the  inferior  noblesse, 
which  boasts  the  name  of  "  exclusives";  with  what  grace,  void 
of  prudery,  she  took  the  adulation  of  the  flutterers,  turning 
from  them  to  her  children,  or  escaping  lightly  to  Lord  Cas- 

_♦  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 


THE    CAXTONS.  447 

tleton,  with  an  ease  that  drew  round  her  at  once  the  protection 
of  hearth  and  home. 

And    certainly    Lady    Castleton   was    more    incontestably 
beautiful  than  Fanny  Trevanion  had  been. 

All  this  I  acknowledged,  not  with  a  sigh  and  a  pang,  but 
with  a  pure  feeling  of  pride  and  delight.  I  might  have  loved 
madly  and  presumptuously,  as  boys  will  do  ;  but  I  had  loved 
worthily-^the  love  left  no  blush  on  my  manhood  ;  and 
Fanny's  very  happiness  was  my  perfect  and  total  cure  of 
every  wound  in  my  heart  not  quite  scarred  over  before.  Had 
she  been  discontented,  sorrowful,  without  joy  m  the  ties  she  had 
formed,  there  might  have  been  more  danger  that  I  should 
brood  over  the  past,  and  regret  the  loss  of  its  idol.  Here 
there  was  none.  And  the  very  improvement  in  her  beauty 
had  so  altered  its  character — so  altered — that  Fanny  Tre- 
vanion and  Lady  Castleton  seemed  two  persons.  And,  thus 
observing  and  listening  to  her,  I  could  now  dispassionately 
perceive  such  differences  in  our  nature  as  seemed  to  justify 
Trevanion's  assertion,  which  once  struck  me  as  so  monstrous, 
"that  we  should  not  have  been  happy  had  fate  permitted  our 
union."  Pure-hearted  and  simple  though  she  remained  in 
the  artificial  world,  still  that  world  was  her  element  ;  its 
interests  occupied  her  ;  its  talk,  though  just  chastened  from 
scandal,  flowed  from  her  lips.  To  borrow  the  words  of  a  man 
who  was  himself  a  courtier,  and  one  so  distinguished  that  he 
could  afford  to  sneer  at  Chesterfield  :  *  "  S/ie  had  the  routine 
of  that  style  of  conversation  which  is  a  sort  of  gold  leaf,  that 
is  a  great  embellishment  where  it  is  joined  to  anything  else." 
I  will  not  add,  "but  makes  a  very  poor  figure  by  itself,"  for 
t/iat  Lady  Castleton's  conversation  certainly  did  not  do — per- 
haps, indeed,  because  it  was  not  "  by  itself  " — and  the  gold 
leaf  was  all  the  better  for  being  thin,  since  it  could  not  cover 
even  the  surface  of  the  sweet  and  amiable  nature  over  which 
it  was  spread.  Still  this  was  not  the  mind  in  which  now,  in 
maturer  experience,  I  would  seek  to  find  sympathy  with 
manly  action,  or  companionship  in  the  charms  of  intellectual 
leisure. 

There  was  about  this  same  beautiful  favorite  of  nature  and 
fortune  a  certain  helplessness,  which  had  even  its  grace  in 
that  high  station,  and  which,  perhaps,  tended  to  ensure  her 
domestic  peace,  for  it  served  to  attach  her  to  those  who  had 
won  influence  over  her,  and  was  happily  accompanied  by  a 
most  affectionate  disposition.     But  still,  if  less  favored  by  cir- 

♦  Lord  Hervey's  "  Memoirs  of  George  II." 


44^  THE   CAXTONS. 

cumstances,  less  sheltered  from  every  wind  that  could  visit 
her  too  roughly — if,  as  the  wife  of  a  man  of  inferior  rank,  she 
had  failed  of  that  high  seat  and  silken  canopy  reserved  for 
the  spoiled  darlings  of  fortune — that  helplessness  might  have 
become  querulous.  I  thought  of  poor  Ellen  Bolding  and  her 
silken  shoes.  Fanny  Trevanion  seemed  to  have  come  into 
the  world  with  silk  shoes — not  to  walk  where  there  was  a 
stone  or  a  brier  !  I  heard  something,  in  the  gossip  of  those 
around,  that  confirmed  this  view  of  Lady  Castleton's  charac- 
ter, while  it  deepened  my  admiration  of  her  lord,  and  showed 
me  how  wise  had  been  her  choice,  and  how  resolutely  he  had 
prepared  himself  to  vindicate  his  own.  One  evening,  as  I  was 
sitting  a  little  apart  from  the  rest,  with  two  men  of  the  London 
world,  to  whose  talk — for  it  ran  upon  the  on-dits  and  anecdotes 
of  a  region  long  strange  to  me — I  was  a  silent  but  amused 
listener  ;  one  of  the  two  said  :  "  Well,  I  don't  know  anywhere 
a  more  excellent  creature  than  Lady  Castleton  ;  so  fond  of 
her  children — and  her  tone  to  Castleton  so  exactly  what  it 
ought  to  be — so  affectionate,  and  yet,  as  it  were,  respectful. 
And  the  more  credit  to  her,  if,  as  they  say,  she  was  not  in  love 
with  him  when  she  married  (to  be  sure,  handsome  as  he  is,  he 
is  twice  her  age  !)  And  no  woman  could  have  been  more 
flattered  and  courted  by  Lotharios  and  lady-killers  than  Lady 
Castleton  has  been.  I  confess,  to  my  shame,  that  Castleton's 
luck  puzzles  me,  for  it  is  rather  an  exception  to  my  general 
experience." 

"  My  dear ,"said  the  other,  who  was  one  of  those  wise  men 

of  pleasure,  who  occasionally  startle  us  into  wondering  how 
they  come  to  be  so  clever,  and  yet  rest  contented  with  mere 
drawing-room  celebrity — men  who  seem  always  idle,  yet  ap- 
pear to  have  read  everything ;  always  indifferent  to  what 
passes  before  them,  yet  who  know  the  character  and  divine  the 

secrets  of  everybody — "  My  dear ,"  said  the  gentleman, "  you 

would  not  be  puzzled  if  you  had  studied  Lord  Castleton, 
instead  of  her  ladyship.  Of  all  the  conquests  ever  made  by 
Sedley  Beaudesert,  when  the  two  fairest  dames  of  the  Faubourg 
are  said  to  have  fought  for  his  smiles,  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne — 
no  conquest  ever  cost  him  such  pains,  or  so  tasked  his  knowl- 
edge of  women,  as  that  of  his  wife  after  marriage  !  He  was 
not  satisfied  with  her  hand,  he  was  resolved  to  have  her  whole 
heart,  '  one  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite';  and  he  has  suc- 
ceeded !  Never  was  husband  so  watchful,  and  so  little  jeal- 
ous ;  never  one  who  confided  so  generously  in  all  that  was 
best  in  his  wife,  yet  was  so  alert  in  protecting  and  guarding 


THE   CAXTONS.  449 

her,  wherever  she  was  weakest !  When,  in  the  second  year  of 
marriage,  that  dangerous  German  Prince  von  Leibenfels 
attached  himself  so  perseveringly  to  Lady  Castleton,  and  the 
scandal-mongers  pricked  up  their  ears,  in  hopes  of  a  victim,  I 
watched  Castleton  with  as  much  interest  as  if  I  had  been  look- 
ing over  Deschappelles  playing  at  chess.  You  never  saw  any- 
thing so  masterly  :  he  pitted  himself  against  His  Highness  with 
the  cool  confidence,  not  of  a  blind  spouse,  but  a  fortunate 
rival.  He  surpassed  him  in  the  delicacy  of  his  attentions,  he 
outshone  him  by  his  careless  magnificence.  Leibenfels  had 
the  impertinence  to  send  Lady  Castleton  a  bouquet  of  some 
rare  flowers  just  in  fashion.  Castleton,  an  hour  before,  had 
filled  her  whole  balcony  with  the  same  costly  exotics,  as  if  they 
were  too  common  for  nosegays,  and  only  just  worthy  to  bloom 
for  her  a  day.  Young  and  really  accomplished  as  Leibenfels 
is,  Castleton  eclipsed  him  by  his  grace,  and  fooled  him  with 
his  wit  ;  he  laid  little  plots  to  turn  his  moustache  and  guitar 
into  ridicule  ;  he  seduced  him  into  a  hunt  with  thebuckhounds 
(though  Castleton  himself  had  not  hunted  before,  since  he  was 
thirty),  and  drew  him,  spluttering  German  oaths,  out  of  the 
slough  of  a  ditch  ;  he  made  him  the  laughter  of  the  clubs  :  he 
put  him  fairly  out  of  fashion — and  all  with  such  suavity  and 
politeness,  and  bland  sense  of  superiority,  that  it  was  the  finest 
piece  of  high  comedy  you  ever  beheld.  The  poor  Prince,  who 
had  been  coxcomb  enough  to  lay  a  bet  with  a  Frenchman  as 
to  his  success  with  the  English  in  general,  and  Lady  Castleton 
in  particular,  went  away  with  a  face  as  long  as  Don  Quixote's. 

If  you  had  but  seen  him  at  S House,  the   night  before  he 

took  leave  of  the  island,  and  his  comical  grimace  when  Castle- 
ton offered  him  a  pinch  of  the  Beaudesert  mixture  !  No  !  the 
fact  is,  that  Castleton  made  it  the  object  of  his  existence,  the 
masterpiece  of  his  art,  to  secure  to  himself  a  happy  home,  and 
the  entire  possession  of  his  wife's  heart.  The  first  two  or 
three  years,  I  fear,  cost  him  more  trouble  than  any  other  man 
ever  took,  with  his  own  wife  at  least ;  but  he  may  now  rest  in 
peace — Lady  Castleton  is  won,  and  forever." 

As  my  gentleman  ceased,  Lord  Castleton's  noble  head  rose 
above  the  group  standing  round  him  ;  and  I  saw  Lady  Castle- 
ton turn  with  a  look  of  well-bred  fatigue  from  a  handsome 
young  fop,  who  had  affected  to  lower  his  voice  while  he  spoke 
to  her,  and,  encountering  the  eyes  of  her  husband,  the  look 
changed  at  once  into  one  of  such  sweet,  smiling  affection,  such 
frank,  unmistakable  wife  like  pride,  that  it  seemed  a  response 
to  the  assertion — "  Lady  Castleton  is  won,  and  forever." 


450  THE   CAXTONS. 

Yes,  that  Story  increased  my  admiration  for  Lord  Castleton  : 
it  showed  me  with  what  forethought  and  earnest  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility he  had  undertaken  the  charge  of  a  hfe,  the  guid- 
ance of  a  character  yet  undeveloped  :  it  lastingly  acquitted  him 
of  the  levity  that  had  been  attributed  to  Sedley  Beaudesert. 
But  I  felt  more  than  ever  contented  that  the  task  had  devolved 
on  one  whose  temper  and  experience  had  so  fitted  him  to  dis- 
charge it.  That  German  prince  made  me  tremble  from  sym- 
pathy with  the  husband,  and  in  a  sort  of  relative  shudder 
for  myself  !  Had  that  episode  happened  to  me  !  I  could 
never  have  drawn  "  high  comedy  "  from  it  !  I  could  never  have 
so  happily  closed  the  fifth  act  with  a  pinch  of  the  Beaudesert 
mixture!  No,  no;  to  my  homely  sense  of  man's  life  and 
employment,  there  was  nothing  alluring  in  the  prospect  of 
watching  over  the  golden  tree  in  the  garden,  with  a  "  woe 
to  the  Argus,  if  Mercury  once  lull  him  to  sleep !  "  Wife 
of  mine  shall  need  no  watching,  save  in  sickness  and  sorrow  ! 
Thank  Heaven  that  my  way  of  life  does. not  lead  through  the 
roseate  thoroughfares,  beset  with  German  princes  laying  bets 
for  my  perdition,  and  fine  gentlemen  admiring  the  skill  with 
which  I  play  at  chess  for  so  terrible  a  stake  !  To  each  rank  and 
each  temper,  its  own  laws.  I  acknowledge  that  Fanny  is  an 
excellent  marchioness,  and  Lord  Castleton  an  incomparable 
marquis.  But  Blanche  I  if  I  can  win  thy  true,  simple  heart,  I 
trust  I  shall  begin  at  the  fifth  act  of  high  Comedy,  and  say  at 
the  altar : 

"  Once  won,  won  forever  !  " 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

I  RODE  home  on  a  horse  my  host  lent  me ;  and  Lord  Castle- 
ton rode  part  of  the  way  with  me,  accompanied  by  his  two 
boys,  who  bestrode  manfully  their  Shetland  ponies,  and  cantered 
on  before  us.  I  paid  some  compliment  to  the  spirit  and  intelli- 
gence of  these  children — a  compliment  they  well  deserved. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  the  Marquis,  with  a  father's  becoming 
pride,  "  I  hope  neither  of  them  will  shame  his  grandsire,  Tre- 
vanion.  Albert  (though  not  quite  the  wonder  poor  Lady 
Ulverstone  declares  him  to  be)  is  rather  too  precocious  ;  and 
it  is  all  I  can  do  to  prevent  his  being  spoilt  by  flattery  to  his 
cleverness,  which,  I  think,  is  much  worse  than  even  flattery  to 
rank — a  danger  to  which,  despite  Albert's  destined  inheritance, 
the  elder  brother  is  more  exposed.  Eton  soon  takes  out  the 
conceit  of  the   latter  and  more  vulgar  kind.     I  remember 


THE    CAXTONS.  45 1 

Lord (you    know   what  an  unpretending,   good-natured 

fellow  he  is  now)  strutting  into  the  play-ground,  a  raw  boy, 
with  his  chin  up  in  the  air,  and  burly  Dick  Johnson  (rather  a 
tuft-hunter  now,  I'm  afraid)  coming  up,  and  saying, '  Well,  sir, 

and   who  the  deuce  are  you  ? '    *  Lord ,*  says  the  poor 

devil  unconsciously, '  eldest  son  of  the  Marquis  of .'     '  Oh, 

indeed  ! '  cries  Johnson  ;  *  then,  there's  one  kick  for  my  lord, 
and  two  for  the  Marquis  !  '    I  am  not  fond  of  kicking,  but  I 

doubt  if  anything  ever  did more  good  than  those  three 

kicks  !  But,"  continued  Lord  Castleton,  "  when  one  flatters  a 
boy  for  his  cleverness,  even  Eton  itself  cannot  kick  the  conceit 
out  of  him.  Let  him  be  last  in  the  form,  and  the  greatest 
dunce  ever  flogged,  there  are  always  people  to  say  that  your 
public  schools  don't  do  for  your  great  geniuses.  And  it  is  ten 
to  one  but  what  the  father  is  plagued  into  taking  the  boy 
home,  and  giving  him  a  private  tutor,  who  fixes  him  into  a 
prig  forever.  A  coxcomb  in  dress  (said  the  Marquis,  smiling) 
is  a  trifler  it  would  ill  become  me  to  condemn,  and  I  own  that 
I  would  rather  see  a  youth  a  fop  than  a  sloven  ;  but  a  cox- 
comb in  ideas — why,  the  younger  he  is,  the  more  unnatural 
and  disagreeable.     Now,  Albert,  over  that  hedge,  sir." 

"  That  hedge,  papa?     The  pony  will  never  do  it." 

"Then,"  said  Lord  Castleton,  taking  off  his  hat  with  polite- 
ness, "  I  fear  you  will  deprive  us  of  the  pleasure  of  your  com- 
pany." 

The  boy  laughed,  and  made  gallantly  for  the  hedge,  though 
I  saw  by  his  change  of  color  that  it  a  little  alarmed  him.  The 
pony  could  not  clear  the  hedge  ;  but  it  was  a  pony  of  tact  and 
resources,  and  it  scrambled  through  like  a  cat,  inflicting  sun- 
dry rents  and  tears  on  a  jacket  of  Raphael  blue. 

Lord  Castleton  said,  smiling  :  "  You  see,  I  teach  them  to 
get  through  a  difficulty  one  way  or  the  other.  Between  you 
and  me,"  he  added  seriously,  *'  I  perceive  a  very  different 
world  rising  round  the  next  generation  from  that  in  which  I 
first  went  forth  and  took  my  pleasure.  I  shall  rear  my  boys 
accordingly.  Rich  noblemen  must  nowadays  be  useful  men  ; 
and  if  they  can't  leap  over  briers,  they  must  scramble  through 
them.     Don't  you  agree  with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  heartily." 

"  Marriage  makes  a  man  much  wiser,"  said  the  Marquis, 
after  a  pause.  "  I  smile  now,  to  think  how  often  I  sighed  at 
the  thought  of  growing  old.  Now  I  reconcile  myself  to  the 
gray  hairs  without  dreams  of  a  wig,  and  enjoy  youth  still — 
for  (pointing  to  his  sons)  it  is  there  T' 


452  THE    CAXTONS. 

"  He  has  very  nearly  found  out  the  secret  of  the  saffron  bag 
now,"  said  my  father,  pleased,  and  rubbing  his  hands,  when  I 
repeated  this  talk  with  Lord  Castleton.  "  But  I  fear  poor 
Trevanion,"  he  added,  with  a  compassionate  change  of  coun- 
tenance, "  is  still  far  away  from  the  sense  of  Lord  Bacon's 
receipt.  And  his  wife,  you  say,  out  of  very  love  for  him,  keeps 
always  drawing  discord  from  the  one  jarring  wire." 

"  You  must  talk  to  her,  sir." 

"I  will,"  said  my  father  angrily;  "and  scold  her  too — 
foolish  woman  !  I  shall  tell  her  Luther's  advice  to  the  Prince 
of  Anhalt." 

"  What  was  that,  sir  ?  " 

"  Only  to  throw  a  baby  into  the  river  Maldon,  because  it 
had  sucked  dry  five  wet  nurses  besides  the  mother,  and  must 
therefore  be  a  changeling.  Why,  that  ambition  of  hers  would 
suck  dry  all  the  mother's  milk  in  the  genus  mammalian.  And 
such  a  withered,  rickety,  malign,  little  changeling  too  !  She 
shall  fling  it  into  the  river,  by  all  that  is  holy  !  "  cried  my 
father  ;  and,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  away  into  the 
pond  went  the  spectacles  he  had  been  rubbing  indignantly  for 
the  last  three  minutes.  *'  Papae  !  "  faltered  my  father,  aghast, 
while  the  Cyprinidse,  mistaking  the  dip  of  the  spectacles  for 
an  invitation  to  dinner,  came  scudding  up  to  the  bank,  "  It  is 
all  your  fault,"  said  Mr.  Caxton,  recovering  himself.  **  Get 
me  the  new  tortoise-shell  spectacles  and  a  large  slice  of  bread. 
You  see  that  when  fish  are  reduced  to  a  pond  they  recognize  a 
benefactor,  which  they  never  do  when  rising  at  flies,  or  groping 
for  worms,  in  the  waste  world  of  a  river.  Hem  ! — a  hint  for 
the  Ulverstones.  Besides  the  bread  and  the  spectacles,  just 
look  out  anc?  bring  me  the  old  black-letter  copy  of  St.  Antho- 
ny's *  Sermon  to  Fishes.'  " 

CHAPTER  VHL 

Some  weeks  now  have  passed  since  my  return  to  the  Tower  ; 
the  Castletons  are  gone,  and  all  Trevanion's  gay  guests.  And 
since  these  departures,  visits  between  the  two  houses  have 
been  interchanged  often,  and  the  bonds  of  intimacy  are  grow- 
ing close.  Twice  has  my  father  held  long  conversations  apart 
with  Lady  Ulverstone  (my  mother  is  not  foolish  enough  to 
feel  a  pang  now  at  such  confidences),  and  the  result  has 
become  apparent.  Lady  Ulverstone  has  ceased  all  talk  against 
the  world  and  the  public— ceased  to  fret  the  galled  pride  of 
her  husband  with  irritating  sympathy.     She  has  made  herself 


TmE  caxtons.  453 

the  true  partner  of  his  present  occupations,  as  she  was  of  those 
in  the  past  ;  she  takes  interest  in  farming,  and  gardens,  and 
flowers,  and  those  philosophical  peaches  which  come  from  trees 
academical  that  Sir  VVilHam  Temple  reared  in  his  graceful 
retirement.  She  does  more — she  sits  by  her  husband's  side  in 
the  library,  reads  the  books  he  reads,  or,  if  in  Latin,  coaxes 
him  into  construing  them.  Insensibly  she  leads  him  into 
studies  farther  and  farther  remote  from  Blue  Books  and 
Hansard  ;  and  taking  my  father's  hint, 

"  Allures  to  brighter  worlds,  and  leads  the  way." 

They  are  inseparable.  Darby-and-Joan-like,  you  see  them 
together  in  the  library,  the  garden,  or  the  homely  little  pony 
phaeton,  for  which  Tord  Ulverstone  has  resigned  the  fast- 
trotting  cob,  once  identified  with  the  eager  looks  of  the  busy 
Trevanion.  It  is  most  touching,  most  beautiful  !  And  to 
think  what  a  victory  over  herself  the  proud  woman  must  have 
obtained  ! — never  a  thought  that  seems  to  murmur,  never  a 
word  to  recall  the  ambitious  man  back  from  the  philosophy 
into  which  his  active  mind  flies  for  refuge.  And  with  the  effort 
her  brow  has  become  so  serene  !  That  careworn  expression, 
which  her  fine  features  once  wore,  is  fast  vanishing.  And 
what  affects  me  most  is  to  think  that  this  change  (which  is 
already  settling  into  happiness)  has  been  wrought  by  Austin's 
counsels  and  appeals  to  her  sense  and  affection.  "  It  is  to 
you,"  he  said,  "  that  Trevanion  must  look  for  more  than  com- 
fort— for  cheerfulness  and  satisfaction.  Your  child  is  gone 
from  you — the  world  ebbs  away — you  two  should  be  all  in  all 
to  each  other.  Be  so."  Thus,  after  paths  so  devious,  meet 
those  who  had  parted  in  youth,  now  on  the  verge  of  age. 
There,  in  the  same  scenes  where  Austin  and  Ellinor  had  first 
formed  acquaintance,  he  aiding  her  to  soothe  the  wounds 
inflicted  by  the  ambition  that  had  separated  their  lots,  and 
both  taking  counsel  to  insure  the  happiness  of  the  rival  she 
had  preferred. 

After  all  this  vexed  public  life  of  toil,  and  care,  and  ambi- 
tion, to  see  Trevanion  and  Ellinor  drawing  closer  and  closer 
to  each  other,  knowing  private  life  and  its  charms  for  the  first 
time — verily,  it  would  have  been  a  theme  for  an  elegiast  like 
Tibullus. 

But  all  this  while  a  younger  love,  with  no  blurred  leaves  te 
erase  from  the  chronicle,  has  been  keeping  sweet  account  of 
the  summer  time.  "  Very  near  are  two  hearts  that  have  no 
guile  between  them,"  saith  a  proverb,  traced  back  to  Confucius, 


454  THE  CAXTONS. 

O  ye  days  of  still  sunshine,  reflected  back  from  ourselves — O 
ye  haunts,  endeared  evermore  by  a  look,  tone,  or  smile,  or 
rapt  silence  ;  when  more  and  more  with  each  hour  unfolded 
before  me,  that  nature,  so  tenderly  coy,  so  cheerful  though 
serious,  so  attuned  by  simple  cares  to  affection,  yet  so  filled,  from 
soft  musings  and  solitude,  with  a  poetry  that  gave  grace  to 
duties  the  homeliest — setting  life's  trite  things  to  music  ! 
Here  nature  and  fortune  concurred  alike  ;  equal  in  birth  and 
pretensions,  similar  in  tastes  and  in  objects,  loving  the  healthful 
activity  of  purpose,  but  content  to  find  it  around  us — neither 
envying  the  wealthy  nor  vying  with  the  great  ;  each  framed 
by  temper  to  look  on  the  bright  side  of  life,  and  find  founts  of 
delight,  and  green  spots  fresh  with  verdure,  where  eyes  but 
accustomed  to  cities  could  see  but  the  sands  and  the  mirage  : 
while  afar  (as  man's  duty)  I  had  gone  through  the  travail  that, 
in  wrestling  with  fortune,  gives  pause  to  the  heart  to  recover 
its  losses,  and  know  the  value  of  love,  in  its  graver  sense  of 
life's  earnest  realities  ;  Heaven  had  reared,  at  the  thresholds 
of  home,  the  young  tree  that  should  cover  the  roof  with  its 
blossoms  and  embalm  with  its  fragrance  the  daily  air  of  my 
being. 

It  had  been  the  joint  prayer  of  those  kind  ones  I  left,  that 
such  might  be  my  reward  ;  and  each  had  contributed,  in  his 
or  her  several  way,  to  fit  that  fair  life  for  the  ornament  and  joy 
of  the  one  that  now  asked  to  guard  and  to  cherish  it.  From 
Roland  came  that  deep,  earnest  honor — a  man's  in  its 
strength,  and  a  woman's  in  its  delicate  sense  of  refinement. 
From  Roland,  that  quick  taste  for  all  things  noble  in  poetry 
and  lovely  in  nature — the  eye  that  sparkled  to  read  how  Bay- 
ard stood  alone  at  the  bridge,  and  saved  an  army  ;  or  wept 
over  the  page  that  told  how  the  dying  Sidney  put  the  bowl 
from  his  burning  lips.  Is  that  too  masculine  a  spirit  for 
some  ?  Let  each  please  himself.  Give  me  the  woman  who 
can  echo  all  thoughts  that  are  noblest  in  men  !  And  that  eye, 
too — like  Roland's— could  pause  to  note  each  finer  mesh  in 
the  wonderful  webwork  of  beauty.  No  landscape  to  her  was 
the  same  yesterday  and  to-day — a  deeper  shade  from  the  skies 
could  change  the  face  of  the  moors — the  springing  up  of  fresh 
wild  flowers,  the  very  song  of  some  bird  unheard  before,  lent 
variety  to  the  broad,  rugged  heath.  Is  that  too  simple  a  source 
of  pleasure  for  some  to  prize  ?  Be  it  so  to  those  who  need  the 
keen  stimulants  that  cities  afford.  But,  if  we  were  to  pass  all 
our  hours  in  those  scenes,  it  was  something  to  have  the  tastes 
which  own  no  monotony  in  Nature. 


THE   CAXTONS.  455 

All  this  came  from  Roland  ;  and  to  this,  with  thoughtful 
wisdom,  my  father  had  added  enough  knowledge  from  books 
to  make  those  tastes  more  attractive,  and  to  lend  to  impulsive 
perception  of  beauty  and  goodness  the  culture  that  draws 
finer  essence  from  beauty,  and  expands  the  Good  into  the 
Better  by  heightening  the  site  of  the  survey  :  hers,  knowledge 
enough  to  sympathize  with  intellectual  pursuits,  not  enough  to 
dispute  on  man's  province — Opinion.  Still,  whether  in  nature 
or  in  lore,  still 

"  The  fairest  garden  in  her  looks, 
And  in  her  mind  the  choicest  books  !  " 

And  yet,  thou  wise  Austin — and  thou,  Roland,  poet  that  never 
wrote  a  verse — yet  your  work  had  been  incomplete,  but  then 
Woman  stept  in,  and  the  mother  gave  to  her  she  designed  for 
a  daughter  the  last  finish  of  meek,  every-day  charities — the 
mild  household  virtues,  "the  soft  word  that  turneth  away 
wrath,"  the  angelic  pity  for  man's  rougher  faults,  the  patience 
that  bideth  its  time,  and  exacting  no  "  rights  of  woman,"  sub- 
jugates us,  delighted,  to  the  invisible  thrall. 

Dost  thou  remember,  my  Blanche,  that  soft  summer  evening 
when  the  vows  our  eyes  had  long  interchanged  stole  at  last 
from  the  lip  ?  Wife  mine  !  come  to  my  side — look  over  me 
while  I  write  :  there,  thy  tears  (happy  tears  are  they  not, 
Blanche  ?)  have  blotted  the  page  !  Shall  we  tell  the  world 
more  ?  Right,  my  Blanche  ;  no  words  should  profane  the 
pjace  where  those  tears  have  fallen  ! 

And  here  I  would  fain  conclude  ;  but  alas,  and  alas  !  that  I 
cannot  associate  with  our  hopes,  on  this  side  the  grave,  him 
who,  we  fondly  hoped  (even  on  the  bridal-day,  that  gave  his 
sister  to  my  arms),  would  come  to  the  hearth  where  his  place 
now  stood  vacant,  contented  with  glory,  and  fitted  at  last  for 
the  tranquil  happiness  which  long  years  of  repentance  and 
trial  had  deserved. 

I.  Within  the  first  year  of  my  marriage,  and  shortly  after  a 
gallant  share  in  a  desperate  action,  which  had  covered  his 
name  with  new  honors,  just  when  we  were  most  elated,  in  the 
blinded  vanity  of  human  pride,  came  the  fatal  news  !  The 
brief  career  was  run.  He  died,  as  I  knew  he  would  have 
prayed  to  die,  at  the  close  of  a  day  ever  memorable  in  the 
annals  of  that  marvellous  empire,  which  valor  without  parallel 
has  annexed  to  the  Throne  of  the  Isles.  He  died  in  the  arms 
of  Victory,  and  his  last  smile  met  the  eyes  of  the  noble  chief 


456  THE    CAXT0N5. 

v;ho,  even  in  that  hour,  could  pause  from  the  tide  of  triumph 
by  the  victim  it  had  cast  on  its  bloody  shore.  "  One  favor," 
faltered  the  dying  man  ;  "  I  have  a  father  at  home — he,  too, 
is  a  soldier.  In  my  tent  is  my  will  :  it  gives  all  I  have  to 
him — he  can  take  it  without  shame.  That  is  not  enough  ! 
Write  to  him — you — with  your  own  hand,  and  tell  him  how 
his  son  fell  ! "  And  the  hero  fulfilled  the  prayer,  and  that 
letter  is  dearer  to  Roland  than  all  the  long  roll  of  the  ancestral 
dead  !  Nature  has  reclaimed  her  rights,  and  the  forefathers 
recede  before  the  son. 

In  a  side  chapel  of  the  old  gothic  church,  amidst  the  mould- 
ering tombs  of  those  who  fought  at  Acre  and  Agincourt,  a 
fresh  tablet  records  the  death  of  Herbert  de  Caxton,  with 
the  simple  inscription  : 

HE    FELL   ON    THE    FIELD  : 

HIS   COUNTRY    MOURNED    HIM, 

AND    HIS    FATHER    IS   RESIGNED. 

Years  have  rolled  away  since  that  tablet  was  placed  there, 
and  changes  have  passed  on  that  nook  of  earth  which  bounds 
our  little  world  :  fair  chambers  have  sprung  up  amidst  the 
desolate  ruins  ;  far  and  near  smiling  cornfields  replace  the 
bleak,  dreary  moors.  The  land  supports  more  retainers  than 
ever  thronged  to  the  pennon  of  its  barons  of  old  ;  and  Roland 
can  look  from  his  Tower  over  domains  that  are  reclaimed, 
year  by  year,  from  the  waste,  till  the  ploughshare  shall  win  a 
lordship  more  opulent  than  those  feudal  chiefs  ever  held  by 
the  tenure  of  the  sword.  And  the  hospitable  mirth  that  had 
fled  from  the  ruin  has  been  renewed  in  the  hall  ;  and  rich  and 
poor,  great  and  lowly,  have  welcomed  the  rise  of  an  ancient 
house  from  the  dust  of  decay.  All  those  dreams  of  Roland's 
youth  are  fulfilled  ;  but  they  do  not  gladden  his  heart  like  the 
thought  that  his  son,  at  the  last,  was  worthy  of  his  line,  and 
the  hope  that  no  gulf  shall  yawn  between  the  two  when  the 
Grand  Circle  is  rounded,  and  man's  past  and  man's  future 
meet  where  Time  disappears.  Never  was  that  lost  one  for- 
gotten !  Never  was  his  name  breathed  but  tears  rushed  to 
the  eyes  ;  and,  each  morning,  the  peasant  going  to  his  labor 
might  see  Roland  steal  down  the  dell  to  the  deep-set  door  of 
the  chapel.  None  presume  there  to  follow  his  steps,  or 
intrude  on  his  solemn  thoughts  ;  for  there,  in  sight  of  that 
tablet,  are  his  orisons  made,  and  the  remembrance  of  the  dead 
forms  a  part  of  the  commune  with  Heaven.  But  the  old  man's 
step  is  still  firm,  and  his  brow  still  erect ;  and  you  may  see  m 


THE   CAXTONS.  457 

his  face  that  it  was  no  hollow  boast  which  proclaimed  that  the 
"  father  was  resigned  ":  and  ye  who  doubt  if  too  Roman  a 
hardness  might  not  be  found  in  that  Christian  resignation, 
think  what  it  is  to  have  feared  for  a  son  the  life  of  shame,, 
and  ask  then,  if  the  sharpest  grief  to  a  father  is  in  a  son's 
death  of  honor. 

Years  have  passed,  and  two  fair  daughters  play  at  the 
knees  of  Blanche,  or  creep  round  the  footstool  of  Austin, 
waiting  patiently  for  the  expected  kiss  when  he  looks  up  from 
the  Great  Book,  now  drawing  fast  to  its  close  :  or,  if  Roland 
enter  the  room,  forget  all  their  sober  demureness,  and, 
unawed  by  the  terrible  "  Papse  !  "  run  clamorous  for  the  prom- 
ised swing  in  the  orchard,  or  the  fiftieth  recital  of  "  Chevy 
Chase." 

For  my  part,  I  take  the  goods  the  gods  provide  me,  and 
am  contented  with  girls  that  have  the  eyes  of  their  mother  ; 
but  Roland,  ungrateful  man,  begins  to  grumble  that  we  are  so 
neglectful  of  the  rights  of  heirs-male.  He  is  in  doubt  whether 
to  lay  the  fault  on  Mr.  Squills  or  on  us :  I  am  not  sure  that 
he  does  not  think  it  a  conspiracy  of  all  three  to  settle  the 
representation  of  the  martial  De  Caxtons  on  the  "  spindle 
side."  Whosoever  be  the  right  person  to  blame,  an  omission 
so  fatal  to  the  straight  line  in  the  pedigree  is  rectified  at  last, 
and  Mrs.  Primmins  again  rushes,  or  rather  rolls — in  the  move- 
ment natural  to  forms  globular  and  spheral — into  my  father's 
room,  with — 

"  Sir,  sir — it  is  a  boy  !  " 

Whether  my  father  asked  also  this  time  that  question  so 
puzzling  to  metaphysical  inquirers,  "  What  is  a  boy?"  I  know 
not  :  I  rather  suspect  he  had  not  leisure  for  so  abstract  a 
question  ;  for  the  whole  household  burst  on  him,  and  my 
mother,  in  that  storm  peculiar  to  the  elements  of  the  Mind 
Feminine — a  sort  of  sunshiny  storm  between  laughter  and 
crying — whirled  him  off  to  behold  the  Neogilos. 

Now,  some  months  after  that  date,  on  a  winter's  evening, 
we  were  all  assembled  in  the  hall,  which  was  still  our  usual 
apartment,  since  its  size  permitted  to  each  his  own  segregated 
and  peculiar  employment.  A  large  screen  fenced  off  from 
interruption  my  father's  erudite  settlement  ;  and  quite  out  of 
sight,  behind  that  impermeable  barrier,  he  was  now  calmly 
winding  up  that  eloquent  peroration  which  will  astonish  the 
world  whenever,  by  Heaven's  special  mercy,  the  printer's 
devils  have  done  with  "  The  History  of  Human  Error."  In- 
another  nook,  my  uncle  had  ensconced  himself — stirring  his 


458  THE   CAXTONS. 

coffee  (in  the  cup  my  mother  had  presented  to  him  so  many 
years  ago,  and  which  had  miraculously  escaped  all  the  ills  the 
race  of  crockery  is  heir  to),  a  volume  of  "Ivanhoe"in  the 
other  hand  ;  and,  despite  the  charm  of  the  Northern  Wizard, 
his  eye  not  on  the  page.  On  the  wall,  behind  him,  hangs  the 
picture  of  Sir  Herbert  de  Caxton,  the  soldier-comrade  of  Sid- 
ney and  Drake  ;  and,  at  the  foot  of  the  picture,  Roland  has 
slung  his  son's  sword  beside  the  letter  that  spoke  of  his  death, 
which  is  framed  and  glazed  :  sword  and  letter  had  become  as 
the  last,  nor  least  honored,  Penates  of  the  hall — the  son  was 
grown  an  ancestor. 

Not  far  from  my  uncle  sat  Mr.  Squills,  employed  in  mapping 
out  phrenological  divisions  on  a  cast  he  had  made  from  the 
skull  of  one  of  the  Australian  aborigines — a  ghastly  present 
which  (in  compliance  with  a  yearly  letter  to  that  effect)  I  had 
brought  him  over,  together  with  a  stuffed  "  wombat  "  and  a  large 
bundle  of  sarsaparilla.  (For  the  satisfaction  of  his  patients,  I 
may  observe,  parenthetically,  that  the  skull  and  the  "  wom- 
bat " — that  last  is  a  creature  between  a  miniature  pig  and  a 
very  small  badger — were  not  precisely  packed  up  with  the 
sarsaparilla  !)  Farther  on  stood  open,  but  idle,  the  new 
pianoforte,  at  which,  before  my  father  had  given  his  prepara- 
tory hem,  and  sat  down  to  the  Great  Book,  Blanche  and  my 
mother  had  been  trying  hard  to  teach  me  to  bear  the  third  in 
the  glee  of  "  The  Chough  and  Crow  to  roost  have  gone," — 
vain  task,  in  spite  of  all  flattering  assurances  that  I  have  a 
very  fine  "  bass,"  if  I  could  but  manage  to  humor  it.  Fortu- 
nately for  the  ears  of  the  audience,  that  attempt  is  now  aban- 
doned. My  mother  is  hard  at  work  on  her  tapestry — the  last 
pattern  in  fashion — to  wit,  a  rosy-cheeked  young  troubadour 
playing  the  lute  under  a  salmon-colored  balcony  :  the  two  lit- 
tle girls  look  gravely  on,  prematurely  in  love,  I  suspect,  with 
the  troubadour  ;  and  Blanche  and  I  have  stolen  away  into  a 
corner,  which,  by  some  strange  delusion,  we  consider  out  of 
sight,  and  in  that  corner  is  the  cradle  of  the  Neogilos.  Indeed, 
it  is  not  our  fault  that  it  is  there,  Roland  would  have  it  so  ; 
and  the  baby  is  so  good,  too,  he  never  cries — at  least  so  say 
Blanche  and  my  mother :  at  all  events,  he  does  not  cry  to-night. 
And,  indeed,  that  child  is  a  wonder  !  He  seems  to  know  and 
respond  to  what  was  uppermost  at  our  hearts  when  he  was 
born  ;  and  yet  more,  when  Roland  (contrary,  I  dare  say,  to  all 
custom)  permitted  neither  mother,  nor  nurse,  nor  creature  of 
womankind,  to  hold  him  at  the  baptismal  font,  but  bent  over 
the  new  Christian  his  own  dark,  high-featured  face,  reminding 


THE    CAXTONS.  459 

one  of  the  eagle  that  hid  the  infant  in  its  nest,  and  watched  over 
it  with  wings  that  had  battled  with  the  storm  :  and  from  that 
moment  the  child,  who  took  the  name  of  Herbert,  seemed  to 
recognize  Roland  better  than  his  nurse,  or  even  mother — 
seemed  to  know  that,  in  giving  him  that  name,  we  sought  to 
give  Roland  his  son  once  more  !  Never  did  the  old  man  come 
near  the  infant  but  it  smiled,  and  crowed,  and  stretched  out 
its  little  arms  ;  and  then  the  mother  and  I  would  press  each 
other's  hand  secretly,  and  were  not  jealous.  Well,  then, 
Blanche  and  Pisistratus  were  seated  near  the  cradle,  and  talk- 
ing in  low  whispers,  when  my  father  pushed  aside  the  screen, 
and  said  : 

"  There — the  work  is  done  !  And  now  it  may  go  to  press 
as  soon  as  you  will," 

Congratulations  poured  in ;  my  father  bore  them  with  his 
usual  equanimity  ;  and  standing  on  the  hearth,  his  hand  in  his 
waist«oat,  he  said,  musingly,  '*  Among  the  last  delusions  of 
Human  Error,  I  have  had  to  notice  Rousseau's  phantasy  of 
Perpetual  Peace,  and  all  the  like  pastoral  dreams,  which  pre- 
ceded the  bloodiest  wars  that  have  convulsed  the  earth  for 
more  than  a  thousand  years  !  " 

"And  to  judge  by  the  newspapers,"  said  I,  "the  same  de- 
lusions are  renewed  again.  Benevolent  theorists  go  about 
prophesying  peace  as  a  positive  certainty,  deduced  from  that 
sibyl-book  the  ledger ;  and  we  are  never  again  to  buy  cannons, 
provided  only  we  can  exchange  cotton  for  corn." 

Mr.  Squills  (who,  having  almost  wholly  retired  from 
general  business,  has,  from  want  of  something  better  to  do, 
attended  sundry  "Demonstrations  in  the  North,"  since  which 
he  has  talked  much  about  the  march  of  improvement,  the 
spirit  of  the  age,  and  "  Us  of  the  nineteenth  century"). — I 
heartily  hope  that  those  benevolent  theorists  are  true  prophets. 
1  have  found,  in  the  course  of  my  professional  practice,  that 
men  go  out  of  the  world  quite  fast  enough,  without  hacking 
them  into  pieces,  or  blowing  them  up  into  the  air.  War  is  a 
great  evil. 

Blanche  (passing  by  Squills,  and  glancing  towards  Ro- 
land).—Hush  ! 

Roland  remains  silent. 

Mr.  Caxton. — War  is  a  great  evil ;  but  evil  is  admitted  by 
Providence  into  the  agency  of  creation,  physical  and  moral. 
The  existence  of  evil  has  puzzled  wiser  heads  than  ours. 
Squills.  But,  no  doubt,  there  is  One  above  who  has  His 
reasons  for  it.     The  combative  bump  seems  as  common  to  the 


460  tHE   CAXTONS. 

human  skull  as  the  philoprogenitive, — ff  it"  is  in  our  organ- 
ization, be  sure  it  is  not  there  without  cause.  Neither  is  if 
just  to  man,  nor  wisely  submissive  to  the  Disposer  of  all  events, 
to  suppose  that  war  is  wholly  and  wantonly  produced  by 
human  crimes  and  follies  ;  that  it  conduces  only  to  ill,  and 
does  not  as  often  arise  from  the  necessities  interwoven  in 
the  framework  of  society,  and  speed  the  great  ends  of  the 
human  race,  conformably  with  the  designs  of  the  Omnis- 
cient. Not  one  great  war  has  ever  desolated  the  earth,  but 
has  left  behind  it  seeds  that  have  ripened  into  blessings  incal- 
culable ! 

Mr.  Squills  (with  the  groan  of  a  dissentient  at  a  "Demon- 
stration ") — Oh!  oh  !  OH  ! 

Luckless  Squills !  Little  could  he  have  foreseen  the 
shower-bath,  or  rather  douche,  of  erudition  that  fell  splash  on 
his  head,  as  he  pulled  the  string  with  that  impertinent  Oh  ! 
oh  !  Down  first  came  the  Persian  War,  with  Median  myriads 
disgorging  all  the  rivers  they  had  drunk  up  in  their  march 
through  the  East — all  the  arts,  all  the  letters,  all  the  sciences, 
all  the  notions  of  liberty  that  we  inherit  from  Greece — my 
father  rushed  on  with  them  all,  sousing  Squills  with  his  proofs 
that,  without  the  Persian  war,  Greece  would  never  have  risen 
to  be  the  teacher  of  the  world.  Before  the  gasping  victim 
could  take  breath,  down  came  Hun,  Goth,  and  Vandal,  on 
Italy  and  Squills. 

"  What,  sir  !  "  cried  my  father,  "  don't  you  see  that  from 
those  eruptions  on  demoralized  Rome  came  the  regeneration 
of  manhood  ;  the  re-baptism  of  earth  from  the  last  soils  of 
paganism  ;  and  the  remote  origin  of  whatever  of  Christianity 
yet  exists,  free  from  the  idolatries  with  which  Rome  contam- 
inated the  faith  ? " 

Squills  held  up  his  hands  and  made  a  splutter.  Down  came 
Charlemagne — paladins  and  all  !  There  my  father  was  grand  ! 
What  a  picture  he  made  of  the  broken,  jarring,  savage  elements 
of  barbaric  society.  And  the  iron  hand  of  the  great  Frank — 
settling  the  nations  and  founding  existent  Europe.  Squills 
was  now  fast  sinking  into  coma,  or  stupefaction  ;  but  catching 
at  a  straw,  as  he  heard  the  word  "  Crusades,"  he  stuttered 
forth  :  "  Ah  !  there  I  defy  you." 

"  Defy  me  there  !  "  cries  my  father,  and  one  would  think  the 
ocean  was  in  the  shower-bath,  it  came  down  with  such  a  rattle. 
My  father  scarcely  touched  on  the  smaller  points  in  excuse  for 
the  Crusades,  though  he  recited  very  volubly  all  the  humaner 
arts  introduced  into  Europe  by  that  invasion  of  the  East ;  and 


THE   CAXTONS.  46% 

showed  how  it  had  served  civilization,  by  the  vent  it  afforded 
for  the  rude  energies  of  chivahy  ;  by  the  element  of  destruc- 
tion to  feudal  tyranny  that  it  introduced  ;  by  its  use  in  the 
emancipation  of  burghs,  and  the  disrupture  of  serfdom.  But 
he  painted,  in  colors  vivid  as  if  caught  from  the  skies  of  the 
East,  the  great  spread  of  Mahometanism,  and  the  danger 
it  menaced  to  Christian  Europe,  and  drew  up  the  God- 
freys, and  Tancreds,  and  Richards,  as  a  league  of  the 
Age  and  Necessity,  against  the  terrible  progress  of  the  sword 
and  the  Koran.  "  You  call  them  madmen,"  cried  my  father, 
"  but  the  frenzy  of  nations  is  the  statesmanship  of  fate  !  How 
know  you  that,  but  for  the.  terror  inspired  by  the  hosts  who 
marched  to  Jersualem — how  know  you  that  the  Crescent  had 
not  waved  over  other  realms  than  those  which  Roderic  lost  to 
the  Moor  ?  If  Christianity  had  been  less  a  passion,  and  the 
passion  had  less  stirred  up  all  Europe,  how  know  you  that  the 
creed  of  the  Arab  (which  was  then,  too,  a  passion)  might  not 
have  planted  its  mosques  in  the  forum  of  Rome,  and  on 
the  site  of  Notre  Dame?  For  in  the  war  between  creeds — 
when  the  creeds  are  embraced  by  vast  races — think  you 
that  the  reason  of  sages  can  cope  with  the  passion  of  mil- 
lions ?  Enthusiasm  must  oppose  enthusiasm.  The  crusader 
fought  for  the  tomb  of  Christ,  but  he  saved  the  life  of  Christ- 
endom." 

My  father  paused.  Squills  was  quite  passive ;  he  struggled 
no  more — he  was  drowned. 

"  So,"  resumed  Mr.  Caxton,  more  quietly — "  so,  if  later 
wars  yet  perplex  us  as  to  the  good  that  the  All-wise  One  draws 
from  their  evils,  our  posterity  may  read  their  uses  as  clearly  as 
we  now  read  the  finger  of  Providence  resting  on  the  barrows 
of  Marathon,  or  guiding  Peter  the  Hermit  to  the  battlefields  of 
Palestine.  Nor,  while  we  adrnit  the  evil  to  the  passing 
generation,  can  we  deny  that  many  of  the  virtues  that  make 
the  ornament  and  vitality  of  peace  sprung  up  first  in  the  con- 
vulsion of  war  ! "  Here  Squills  began  to  evince  faint  signs  of 
resuscitation,  when  my  father  let  fly  at  him  one  of  those 
numberless  waterworks  which  his  prodigious  memory  kept  in 
constant  supply.  "  Hence,"  said  he,  "  hence,  not  unjustly, 
has  it  been  remarked  by  a  philosopher,  shrewd  at  least  in 
worldly  experience  (Squills  again  closed  his  eyes,  and  became 
exanimate)  :  *  It  is  strange  to  imagine  that  war,  which  of  all 
things  appears  the  most  savage,  should  be  the  passion  of  the 
most  heroic  spirits.  But  'tis  in  war  that  the  knot  of  fellowship 
js  closest  drawn  ;  'tis  in  war  that  mutual  succor  is  most  given, 


402  THE    CAXTONS. 

mutual  danger  run,  and  common  affection  most  exerted  and 
employed  ;  for  heroism  and  philanthropy  are  almost  one  and 
the  same  ! '  "  * 

My  father  ceased,  and  mused  a  little.  Squills,  if  still  living, 
thought  it  prudent  to  feign  continued  extinction. 

*'  Not,"  said  Mr.  Caxton,  resuming  ;  "  Not  but  what  I  hold 
it  our  duty  never  to  foster  into  a  passion  what  we  must  rather 
submit  to  as  an  awful  necessity.  You  say  truly,  Mr.  Squills, — 
war  is  an  evil ;  and  woe  to  those  who,  on  slight  pretences, 
open  the  gates  of  Janus, 

'  The  dire  abode, 
And  the  fierce  issues  of  the  furious  god.'  " 

Mr.  Squills,  after  a  long  pause,  employed  in  some  of  the 
more  handy  means  for  the  reanimation  of  submerged  bodies, 
supporting  himself  close  to  the  fire  in  a  semi-erect  posture, 
with  gentle  friction,  self-applied,  to  each  several  limb,  and 
copious  recourse  to  certain  steaming  stimulants  which  my 
compassionate  hands  prepared  for  him,  stretches  himself,  and 
says  feebly  :  "  In  short,  then,  not  to  provoke  farther  discussion, 
you  would  go  to  war  in  defence  of  your  country.  Stop,  sir — 
stop,  for  Heaven's  sake  !  I  agree  with  you.  I  agree  with 
you  !  But,  fortunately,  there  is  little  chance  now  that  any  new 
Boney  will  build  boats  at  Boulogne  to  invade  us." 

Mr.  Caxton. — I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  Mr.  Squills.  (Squills 
falls  back  with  a  glassy  stare  of  deprecating  horror.)  I  don't 
read  the  newspapers  very  often,  but  the  past  helps  me  to  judge 
of  the  present. 

Therewith  my  father  earnestly  recommended  to  Mr.  Squills 
the  careful  perusal  of  certain  passages  in  Thucydides,  just 
previous  to  the  outbreak  of  the  Peloponnesian  war  (Squills 
hastily  nodded  the  most  servile  acquiescence),  and  drew  an 
ingenious  parallel  between  the  signs  and  symptoms  foreboding 
that  outbreak,  and  the  very  apprehension  of  coming  war  which 
was  evinced  by  the  recent  lo  pceans  to  peace,  f  And,  after 
sundry  notable  and  shrewd  remarks,  tending  to  show  where 
elements  for  war  were  already  ripening,  amidst  clashing  opin- 
ions and  disorganized  states,  he  wound  up  with  saying  :  "  So 
that,  all  things  considered,  I  think  we  had  better  just  keep  up 
enough  of  the  bellicose  spirit,  not  to  think  it  a   sin  if  we  are 

*  Shaftesbury, 
t  When  this  work  was  first  published,  Mr.  Caxton  was  generally  deemed  a  very  false 
|>rophet  in  these  anticipations,  and  sundry  critics  were  pleased  to  consider  his  apology  for 
war  neither  seasonable  nor  philosophical.  That  Mr.  Caxton  was  right,  and  the  politicians 
Apposed  to  him  have  been  somewhat  ludicrously  wrong,  may  be  briefly  accounted  for — Mr. 
^!Mtoa  had  read  history.  ^ 


THE   CAXTONS.  463 

called  upon  to  fight  for  our  pestles  and  mortars,  our  three-per- 
cents.,  goods,  chattels,  and  liberties.  Such  a  time  must  come, 
sooner  or  later,  even  though  the  whole  world  were  spinning 
cotton,  and  printing  sprigged  calicoes.  We  may  not  see  it. 
Squills,  but  that  young  gentleman  in  the  cradle,  whom  you 
have  lately  brought  into  light,  may." 

"  And  if  so,"  said  my  uncle  abruptly,  speaking  for  the  first 
time — "  if  indeed  it  be  for  altar  and  hearth  !  "  My  father 
suddently  drew  in  and  pished  a  little,  for  he  saw  that  he  was 
caught  in  the  web  of  his  own  eloquence. 

Then  Roland  took  down  from  the  wall  his  son's  sword. 
Stealing  to  the  cradle,  he  laid  it  in  its  sheath  by  the  infant's 
side,  and  glanced  from  my  father  to  us  with  a  beseeching  eye. 
Instinctively  Blanche  bent  over  the  cradle,  as  if  to  protect  the 
Neogilos;  but  the  child,  waking,  turned  from  her,  and  attracted 
by  the  glitter  of  the  hilt,  laid  one  hand  lustily  thereon,  and 
pointed  with  the  other  laughingly  to  Roland. 

"  Only  on  my  father's  proviso,"  said  I  hesitatingly.  "  For 
hearth  and  altar — nothing  less  !  " 

"  And  even  in  that  case,"  said  my  father,  "  add  the  shield 
to  the  sword  !  "  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  infant  he  placed 
Roland's  well-worn  Bible,  blistered  in  many  a  page  with 
secret  tears. 

There  we  all  stood,  grouping  round  the  young  centre  of  so 
many  hopes  and  fears — in  peace  or  in  war,  born  alike  for  the 
Battle  of  Life.  And  he,  unconscious  of  all  that  made  our  lips 
silent,  and  our  eyes  dim,  had  already  left  that  bright  bauble 
of  the  sword,  and  thrown  both  arms  round  Roland's  bended 
neck. 

^'Herbert !"  murmured  Roland;  and  Blanche  gently  drew 
away  the  sword — and  left  the  Bible. 


THE  END. 


LEILA 

OR, 

THE  SIEGE  OF  GRANADA 


TO 

THE  RIGHT  HONORABLE 

THE   COUNTESS   OF   BLESSINGTON, 

THIS  TALE  IS  DEDICATED 
BY  ONE 

WHO   WISHES   HH   COULD   HAVE   FOUND    A   MORE    DURABLE   MONUMKNT 
WHEREON   TO    ENGRAVE 

A  MEMORIAL  OF  REAL  FRIENDSHIP. 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  I. 

CHAP.  PAGS 

I.  The  Enchanter  and  the  Warrior, 5 

II.  The  King  within  his  Palace, 8 

III.  The  Lovers, 15 

IV.  The  Father  and  Daughter i8 

V.  Ambition  Distorted  into  Vice  by  Law,  .        .        .        .21 

VI.     The  Lion  in  the  Net, 26 

BOOK  II. 

I.     The  Royal  Tent  of  Spain. — The  King  and  the  Domin- 
ican.— The  Visitor  and  the  Hostage,       ...      29 
II.     The  Ambush,  the  Strife,  and  the  Capture,       .        .  38 

III.  The  Hero  in  the  Power  of  the  Dreamer.      ...      47 

IV.  A  Fuller  View  of  the  Character  of   Boabdil — MuzA 

in  the  Gardens  of  his  Beloved 54 

V.  Boabdil's  Reconciliation  with  his  People,      ...       58 

VI.  Leila. — Her  New  Lover. — Portrait  of  the  First  In- 

quisitor OF  Spain. — The  Chalice  Returned  to  the 

Lips  of  Almamen, 59 

VII.     The  Tribunal  and  the  Miracle 66 

BOOK  IIL 

I.     Isabel  and  the  Jewish  Maiden, 70 

II.  The  Temptation  of  the  Jewess. — In  which  the  History 

Passes  from  the  Outward  to  the  Internal,       .  74 

III.     The  Hour  and  the  Man 79 

BOOK  IV. 

I.  Leila  in  the  Castle. — The  Siege,         .        .        .        .83 
II.     Almamen*s    Proposed    Enterprise. — The   Three   Israel- 
ites.— Circumstance  Impresses  Each  Character  with 

A  Varying  Die, 88 

III.  The  Fugitive  and  the  Meeting, 91 

IV.  Almamen  Hears  and  Sees,  but  Refuses  to  Believe  ;  for 

the  Brain,  Overwrought,  Grows  Dull,  even  in  the 

Keenest, -95 

V.    In  the  Ferment  of  Great  Events  the  Dregs  Rise,  .         100 

VI.  Boabdil's    Return. — The    Reappearance   of   Ferdinand 

before  Granada, 105 

VII.  The  Conflagration. — The  Majesty  of  an    Individual 

Passion  in  the  Midst  of  Hostile  Thousands,      .         106 

BOOK  V. 

I.  The  Great  Battle, no 

II.  The  Novice, 118 

III.  The  Pause  between  Defeat  and  Surrender,           .        .  125 

IV.  The  Adventure  of  the  Solitary  Horseman,       .        .  131 
V.  The  Sacrifice, 136 

VI.  The   Return. — The   Riot. — The  Treachery. — And  the 

Death, .        .        I39 

VII,  The  End,       ...       -  146 


LEILA; 

OR, 

THE  SIEGE  OF  GRANADA. 


BOOK    I. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   ENCHANTER    AND   THE   WARRIOR. 

It  was  summer  of  the  year  1491,  and  the  armies  of  Ferdi- 
nand and  Isabel  invested  the  city  of  Granada. 

The  night  was  not  far  advanced  ;  and  the  moon,  which  broke 
through  the  transparent  air  of  Andalusia,  shone  calmly  over 
the  immense  and  murmuring  encampment  of  the  Spanish  foe, 
and  touched  with  a  hazy  light  the  snow-capped  summits  of  the 
Sierra  Nevada,  contrasting  the  verdure  and  luxuriance  which  no 
devastation  of  man  could  utterly  sweep  from  the  beautiful 
vale  below. 

In  the  streets  of  the  Moorish  city  many  a  group  still  lin- 
gered. Some,  as  if  unconscious  of  the  beleaguering  war  with- 
out, were  listening  in  quiet  indolence  to  the  strings  of  the 
Moorish  lute,  or  the  lively  tale  of  an  Arabian  improvvisatore  ; 
others  were  conversing  with  such  eager  and  animated  gestures, 
as  no  ordinary  excitement  could  wring  from  the  stately  calm 
habitual  to  every  Oriental  people.  But  the  more  public 
places,  in  which  gathered  these  different  groups,  only  the  more 
impressively  heightened  the  desolate  and  solemn  repose  that 
brooded  over  the  rest  of  the  city. 

At  this  time  a  man,  with  downcast  eyes,  and  arms  folded 
within  the  sweeping  gown  which  descended  to  his  feet,  was 
seen  passing  through  the  streets,  alone,  and  apparently  unob- 
servant of  all  around  him.     Yet  this  indifference  was  by  no 


6  LEILA. 

means  shared  by  the  straggling  crowds  through  which,  from 
time  to  time,  he  musingly  swept. 

"God  is  great !  "  said  one  man  ;  "it  is  the  Enchanter  Alma- 
men." 

"  He  hath  locked  up  the  manhood  of  Boabdil  el  Chico  with 
the  key  of  his  spells,"  quoih  another,  stroking  his  beard  ;  "I 
would  curse  him,  if  I  dared." 

"  But  they  say  that  he  hath  promised  that  when  man  fails, 
the  genii  will  fight  for  Granada,"  observed  the  third  doubtingly. 

"Allah  Akbar  !  what  is,  is  !  What  shall  be,  shall  be  !  "  said 
a  fourth,  with  all  the  solemn  sagacity  of  a  prophet. 

Whatever  their  feelings,  whether  of  awe  or  execration,  terror 
or  hope,  each  group  gave  way  as  Almamen  passed,  and  hushed 
the  murmurs  not  intended  for  his  ear.  Passing  through  the 
Zacatin  (the  street  which  traversed  the  Great  Bazaar),  the 
reputed  enchanter  ascended  a  narrow  and  winding  street,  and 
arrived  at  last  before  the  walls  that  encircled  the  palace  and 
fortress  of  the  Alhambra. 

The  sentry  at  the  gate  saluted  and  admitted  him  in  silence  ; 
and  in  a  few  moments  his  form  was  lost  in  the  solitude  of 
groves,  amidst  which,  at  frequent  openings,  the  spray  of  Arabian 
fountains  glittered  in  the  moonlight  ;  while,  above,  rose  the 
castled  heights  of  the  Alhambra ;  and  on  the  right,  those  Ver- 
milion Towers,  whose  origin  veils  itself  in  the  furthest  ages  of 
Phoenician  enterprise. 

Almamen  paused,  and  surveyed  the  scene.  "  Was  Aden 
more  lovely  ? "  he  muttered ;  "  And  shall  so  fair  a  spot  be 
trodden  by  the  victor  Nazarene  ?  What  matters  ?  Creed 
chases  creed — race,  race — until  time  comes  back  to  its  start- 
ing-place, and  beholds  the  reign  restored  to  the  eldest  faith 
and  the  eldest  tribe.  The  horn  of  our  strength  shall  be 
exalted." 

At  these  thoughts  the  seer  relapsed  into  silence,  and  gazed 
long  and  intently  upon  the  stars,  as,  more  numerous  and  bril- 
liant with  every  step  of  the  advancing  night,  their  rays  broke 
on  the  playful  waters,  and  tinged  with  silver  the  various  and 
breathless  foliage.  So  earnest  was  his  gaze,  and  so  absorbed 
his  thoughts,  that  he  did  not  perceive  the  approach  of  a  Moor, 
whose  glittering  weapons  and  snow-white  turban,  rich  with 
emeralds,  cast  a  gleam  through  the  wood. 

The  new  comer  was  above  the  common  size  of  his  race,  gen- 
erally small  and  spare,  but  without  attaining  the  lofty  stature 
and  large  proportions  of  the  more  redoubted  of  the  warriors  of 
Spain.     But  in  his  presence  and  mien  there  was  something 


LEILA.  7 

which,  in  the  haughtiest  conclave  of  Christian  chivalry,  would 
have  seemed  to  tower  and  command.  He  walked  with  a  step 
at  once  light  and  stately,  as  if  it  spurned  the  earth  ;  and  in  the 
carriage  of  the  small,  erect  head  and  stag-like  throat,  there  was 
that  undefinable  and  imposing  dignity,  which  accords  so  well 
with  our  conception  of  a  heroic  lineage,  and  a  noble  though 
imperious  spirit.  The  stranger  approached  Almamen,  and 
paused  abruptly  when  within  a  few  steps  of  the  enchanter. 
He  gazed  upon  him  in  silence  for  some  moments  ;  and,  when 
at  length  he  spoke,  it  was  with  a  cold  and  sarcastic  tone. 

"  Pretender  to  the  dark  secrets,"  said  he,  "  is  it  in  the  stars 
that  thou  art  reading  those  destinies  of  men  and  nations,  which 
the  Prophet  wrought  by  the  chieftain's  brain  and  the  soldier's 
arm  ?  " 

"  Prince,"  replied  Almamen,  turning  slowly,  and  recognizing 
the  intruder  on  his  meditations,  "  1  was  but  considering  how 
many  revolutions,  which  have  shaken  earth  to  its  centre,  those 
orbs  have  witnessed,  unsympathizing  and  unchanged." 

"  Unsympathizing  !  "  repeated  the  Moor  ;  "  yet  thou  believest 
in  their  effect  upon  the  earth  ?  " 

"  You  wrong  me,"  answered  Almamen,  with  a  slight  smile  ; 
"  You  confound  your  servant  with  that  vain  race,  the  astrolo- 
gers." 

"  I  deemed  astrology  a  part  of  the  science  of  the  two  Angels, 
Harflt  and  Mar^t."  * 

"  Possibly  ;  but  I  know  not  that  science,  though  I  have  wan- 
dered at  midnight  by  the  ancient  Babel." 

"Fame  lies  to  us,  then,"  answered  the  Moor  with  some  sur- 
prise. 

"  Fame  never  made  pretence  to  truth,"  said  Almamen  calmly, 
and  proceeding  on  his  way.  "Allah  be  with  you.  Prince  !  I 
seek  the  King." 

"  Stay  !  I  have  just  quitted  his  presence,  and  left  him,  I 
trust,  with  thoughts  worthy  of  the  sovereign  of  Granada,  which 
I  would  not  have  disturbed  by  a  stranger,  a  man  whose  arms 
are  not  spear  nor  shield." 

"Noble  Muza,"  returned  Almamen,  "  fear  not  that  my  voice 
will  weaken  the  inspirations  which  thine  hath  breathed  into 
the  breast  of  Boabdil.  Alas,  if  my  counsel  were  heeded,  thou 
wouldst  hear  the  warriors  of  Granada  talk  less  of  Muza,  and 
more  of  the  King!     But  Fate,  or  Allah,  hath  placed  upon  the 

*  The  science  of  magic.  It  was  taught  by  the  Angels  named  in  the  text  ;  for  which 
offence  they  are  still  supposed  to  be  confined  in  the  ancient  Babel.  There  they  may  yet 
*z>«  consulted,  though  they  are  rarely  seen.— VaUarttlin  KuAyii.— Salb's  Kor\ji, 


8  LEILA. 

throne  of  a  tottering  dynasty,  one  who,  though  brave,  is  weak  ; 
though  wise,  a  dreamer ;  and  you  suspect  the  adviser,  when 
you  find  the  influence  of  nature  on  the  advised.     Is  this  just  ?" 

Muza  gazed  long  and  sternly  on  the  face  of  Almamen  ;  then 
putting  his  hand  gently  on  the  enchanter's  shoulder,  he  said  : 

"  Stranger,  if  thou  playest  us  false,  think  that  this  arm  hath 
cloven  the  casque  of  many  a  foe,  and  will  not  spare  the  turban 
of  a  traitor  !  " 

"  And  think  thou,  proud  Prince  !  "  returned  Almamen,  un- 
quailing,  "  that  I  answer  alone  to  Allah  for  my  motives,  and 
and  that  against  man  my  deeds  I  can  defend  !  " 

With  these  words,  the  enchanter  drew  his  long  robe  round 
him,  and   disappeared  amidst  the  foliage. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    KING    WITHIN    HIS    PALACE. 

In  one  of  those  apartment,  the  luxury  of  which  is  known 
only  to  the  inhabitants  of  a  genial  climate  (half  chamber  and 
half  grotto),  reclined  a  young  Moor,  in  a  thoughtful  and  mus- 
ing attitude. 

The  ceiling  of  cedar-wood,  glowing  with  gold  and  azure, 
was  supported  by  slender  shafts  of  the  whitest  alabaster,  be- 
tween which  were  open  arcades,  light  and  graceful  as  the  arched 
vineyards  of  Italy,  and  wrought  in  that  delicate  filigree-work 
common  to  the  Arabian  architecture  :  through  these  arcades 
was  seen  at  intervals  the  lapsing  fall  of  waters,  lighted  by  ala- 
baster lamps  ;  and  their  tinkling  music  sounded  with  a  fresh 
and  regular  murmur  upon  the  ear.  The  whole  of  one  side  of 
this  apartment  was  open  to  a  broad  and  extensive  balcony 
which  overhung  the  banks  of  the  winding  and  moonlit  Darro  ; 
and  in  the  clearness  of  the  soft  night  might  be  distinctly  seen 
the  undulating  hills,  the  woods  and  orange-groves,  which  still 
form  the  unrivalled  landscapes  of  Granada. 

The  pavement  was  spread  with  ottomans  and  couches  of  the 
richest  azure,  prodigally  enriched  with  quaint  designs  in  broid- 
eries of  gold  and  silver  ;  and  over  that  on  which  the  Moor 
reclined,  facing  the  open  balcony,  were  suspended  on  a  pillar 
the  round  shield,  the  light  javelin,  and  the  curving  cimiter  of 
Moorish  warfare.  So  studded  were  these  arms  with  jewels  of 
rare  cost,  that  they  might  alone  have  sufficed  to  indicate  the 
rank  of  the  evident  owner,  even  if  his  own  gorgeous  vestments 


LEILA  9 

had  not  betrayed  it.  An  open  manuscript,  on  a  silver  table, 
lay  unread  before  the  Moor  :  as,  leaning  his  face  upon  his  hand, 
he  looked  with  abstracted  eyes  along  the  mountain  summits, 
dimly  distinguished  from  the  cloudless  and  far  horizon. 

No  one  could  have  gazed  without  a  vague  emotion  of  inter- 
est, mixed  with  melancholy,  upon  the  countenance  of  the 
inmate  of  that  luxurious  chamber. 

Its  beauty  was  singularly  stamped  with  a  grave  and  stately 
sadness,  which  was  made  still  more  impressive  by  its  air  of 
youth  and  the  unwonted  fairness  of  the  complexion  :  unlike 
the  attributes  of  the  Moorish  race,  the  hair  and  curling  beard 
were  of  a  deep  golden  color  ;  and  on  the  broad  forehead,  and 
in  the  large  eyes,  was  that  settled  and  contemplative  mildness 
which  rarely  softens  the  swart  lineaments  of  the  fiery  children 
of  the  sun.  Such  was  the  personal  appearance  of  Boabdil  el 
Chico,  the  last  of  the  Moorish  dynasty  in  Spain. 

"  These  scrolls  of  Arabian  learning,"  said  Boabdil  to  himself, 
"  what  do  they  teach  ?  To  despise  wealth  and  power,  to  hold 
the  heart  to  be  the  true  empire.  This,  then,  is  wisdom.  Yet, 
if  I  follow  these  maxims  ahn  I  wise  ?  Alas  !  the  whole  world 
would  call  me  a  driveller  and  a  madman.  Thus  is  it  ever  ;  the 
wisdom  of  the  intellect  fills  us  with  precepts  which  it  is  the 
wisdom  of  Action  to  despise.  O  holy  Prophet !  what  fools 
men  would  be  if  their  knavery  did  not  eclipse  their  folly  !  ■" 

The  young  King  listlessly  threw  himself  back  on  his  cush- 
ions as  he  uttered  these  words,  too  philosophical  for  a  king 
whose  crown  sate  so  loosely  on  his  brow. 

After  a  few  moments  of  thought  that  appeared  to  dissatisfy 
and  disquiet  him,  Boabdil  again  turned  impatiently  round  • 
"  My  soul  wants  the  bath  of  music,"  said  he  ;  "  these  journeys 
into  a  pathless  realm  have  wearied  it,  and  the  streams  of  sound 
supple  and  relax  the  travailed  pilgrim." 

He  clapped  his  hands,  and  from  one  of  the  arcades  a  boy, 
hitherto  invisible,  started  into  sight  ;  at  a  slight  and  scarce  per- 
ceptible sign  from  the  King,  the  boy  again  vanished,  and  in  a 
few  moments  afterwards,  glancing  through  the  fairy  pillars, 
and  by  the  glittering  waterfalls,  came  the  small  and  twinkling 
feet  of  the  maids  of  Araby.  As,  with  their  transparent  tunics 
and  white  arms,  they  gleamed,  without  an  echo,  through  that 
cool  and  voluptuous  chamber,  they  might  well  have  seemed 
the  Peris  of  the  eastern  magic,  summoned  to  beguile  the 
sated  leisure  of  a  youthful  Solomon.  With  them  came  a 
maiden  of  more  exquisite  beauty,  though  smaller  stature,  than 
the  rest,  bearing  the  light  Moorish  lute,  and  a  fai»»t  and  languid 


iO  LEILA, 

smile  broke  over  the  beautiful  face  of  Boabdil,  as  his  eye» 
rested  upon  her  graceful  form  and  the  dark,  yet  glowing  lustre 
of  her  oriental  countenance.  She  alone  approached  the  King, 
timidly  kissed  his  hand,  and  then,  joining  her  comrades,  com- 
menced the  following  song,  to  the  air  and  very  words  of  which 
the  feet  of  the  dancing-girls  kept  time,  while  with  the  chorus 
rang  the  silver  bells  of  the  musical  instrument  which  each  of 
the  dancers  carried  : 

amine's  song. 


Softly,  oh,  softly  glide, 
Gentle  Music,  thou  silver  tide, 
Bearing  the  luU'd  air  along, 
This  leaf  from  the  Rose  of  Song 
To  its  port  in  his  soul  let  it  float. 
The  frail  but  the  fragrant  boat, — 
Bear  it,  soft  Air,  along  ! 


With  the  burthen  of  sound  we  are  laden, 
Like  the  bells  on  the  trees  of  Aden,* 
When  they  thrill  with  a  tinkling  tone 
At  the  Wind  from  the  Holy  Throne, 

Hark,  as  we  move  around, 

We  shake  off  the  buds  of  sound — 
Thy  presence,  Belov'd,  is  Aden  ! 

III. 
Sweet  chime  that  I  hear  and  wake  : 
I  would,  for  my  lov'd  one's  sake, 
That  I  were  a  sound  like  thee. 
To  the  depths  of  his  heart  to  flee. 

If  my  breath  had  his  senses  blest ; 
If  my  voice  in  his  heart  could  rest  ; 
What  pleasure  to  die  like  thee  ! 

The  music  ceased  ;  the  dancers  remained  motionless  in  their 
graceful  postures,  as  if  arrested  into  statues  of  alabaster;  and 
the  young  songstress  cast  herself  on  a  cushion  at  the  feet  of 
the  monarch,  and  looked  up  fondly,  but  silently,  into  his  yet 
melancholy  eyes,  when  a  man,  whose  entrance  had  not  been 
noticed,  was  seen  to  stand  within  the  chamber. 

He  was  about  the  middle  stature,  lean,  muscular,  and 
strongly  though  sparely  built.  A  plain  black  robe,  something 
in  the  fashion  of  the  Armenian  gown,  hung  long  and  loosely 
over  a  tunic  of  bright  scarlet,  girded  by  a  broad  belt,  from  the 

*  The  Mahometans  believe  that  musical  bells  hang  on  the  trees  of  Paradise,  and  are  put 
ia  motion  by  a  wind  from  the  throne  of  God. 


LEILA  U 

centre  of  which  was  suspended  a  small  golden  key,  while  at 
the  left  side  appeared  the  jewelled  hilt  of  a  crooked  dagger. 
His  features  were  cast  in  a  larger  and  grander  mould  than  was 
common  amongst  the  Moors  of  Spain ;  the  forehead  was 
broad,  massive,  and  singularly  high,  and  the  dark  eyes  of  un- 
usual size  and  brilliancy  ;  his  beard,  short,  black,  and  glossy, 
curled  upward,  and  concealed  all  the  lower  part  of  the  face, 
save  a  firm,  compressed,  and  resolute  expression  in  the  lips, 
which  were  large  and  full  ;  the  nose  was  high,  aquiline,  and 
well-shaped  ;  and  the  whole  character  of  the  head  (which  was, 
for  symmetry,  on  too  large  and  gigantic  a  scale  as  proportioned 
to  the  form)  was  indicative  of  extraordinary  energy  and  power. 
At  the  first  glance,  the  stranger  might  have  seemed  scarce  on 
the  borders  of  middle  age  ;  but,  on  a  more  careful  examina- 
tion, the  deep  lines  and  wrinkles,  marked  on  the  forehead  and 
round  the  eyes,  betrayed  a  more  advanced  period  of  life.  With 
arms  folded  on  his  breast,  he  stood  by  the  side  of  the  King, 
waiting  in  silence  the  moment  when  his  presence  should  be 
perceived. 

He  did  not  wait  long  ;  the  eyes  and  gesture  of  the  girl 
nestled  at  the  feet  of  Boabdil  drew  the  King's  attention  to  the 
spot  where  the  stranger  stood  :  his  eye  brightened  when  it  fell 
upon  him. 

"  Almamen,"  cried  Boabdil  eagerly,  "  you  are  welcome." 
As  he  spoke,  he  motioned  to  the  dancing-girls  to  withdraw. 

*'  May  I  not  rest  ?  O  core  of  my  heart,  thy  bird  is  in  its 
home,"  murmured  the  songstress  at  the  King's  feet. 

"  Sweet  Amine,"  answered  Boabdil,  tenderly  smoothing 
down  her  ringlets  as  he  bent  to  kiss  her  brow,  "  you  should 
witness  only  my  hours  of  delight.  Toil  and  business  have 
nought  with  thee  ;  I  will  join  thee  ere  yet  the  nightingale 
hyn.ns  his  last  music  to  the  moon."  Amine  sighed,  rose,  and 
vanished  with  her  companions. 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  King,  when  alone  with  Almamen, 
"  your  counsels  often  soothe  me  into  quiet,  yet  in  such  hours 
quiet  is  a  crime.  But  what  do  ?  How  struggle  ?  How  act  ? 
Alas  !  at  the  hour  of  his  birth,  rightly  did  they  affix  to  the 
name  of  Boabdil  the  epithet  of  El  Zogoybi.  *  Misfortune  set 
upon  my  brow  her  dark  and  fated  stamp  ere  yet  my  lips  could 
shape  a  prayer  against  her  power.  My  fierce  father,  whose 
frown  was  as  the  frown  of  Azrael,  hated  me  in  my  cradle  ;  in 
my  youth  my  name  was  invoked  by  rebels  against  my  will  ; 
imprisoned  by  my  father,  with  the  poison-bowl  or  the  dagger 

•  The  unlucky. 


12  LEILA. 

hourly  before  my  eyes,  I  was  saved  only  by  the  artifice  of  my 
mother.  When  age  and  infirmity  broke  the  iron  sceptre  of  the 
King,  my  claims  to  the  throne  were  set  aside,  and  my  uncle, 
El  Zagal,  usurped  my  birthright.  Amidst  open  war  and  secret 
treason  I  wrestled  for  my  crown  ;  and  now,  the  sole  sovereign 
of  Granada,  when,  as  I  fondly  imagined,  my  uncle  had  lost  all 
claim  on  the  affections  of  my  people  by  succumbing  to  the 
Christian  King,  and  accepting  a  fief  under  his  dominion,  I  find 
that  the  very  crime  of  El  Zagal  is  fixed  upon  me  by  my  un- 
hapy  subjects — that  they  deem  he  would  not  have  yielded  but 
for  my  supineness.  At  the  moment  of  my  delivery  from  my 
rival,  I  am  received  with  execration  by  my  subjects,  and,  driven 
into  this  my  fortress  of  the  Alhambra,  dare  not  venture  to 
head  my  armies,  or  to  face  ray  people  ;  yet  am  I  called  weak 
and  irresolute,  when  strength  and  courage  are  forbid  me.  And 
as  the  water  glides  from  yonder  rock,  that  hath  no  power  to 
retain  it,  I  see  the  tide  of  empire  welling  from  my  hands." 

The  young  King  spoke  warmly  and  bitterly;  and,  in  the 
irritation  of  his  thoughts,  strode,  while  he  spoke,  with  rapid 
and  irregular  strides  along  the  chamber.  Almamen  marked 
his  emotion  with  an  eye  and  lip  of  rigid  composure. 

**  Light  of  the  faithful,"  said  he,  when  Boabdil  had  concluded, 
"  the  powers  above  never  doom  man  to  perpetual  sorrow,  nor 
perpetual  joy  :  the  cloud  and  the  sunshine  are  alike  essential 
to  the  heaven  of  our  destinies  ;  and  if  thou  hast  suffered  in 
thy  youth,  thou  hast  exhausted  the  calamities  of  fate,  and  thy 
manhood  will  be  glorious,  and  thine  age  serene." 

"Thou  speakest  as  if  the  armies  of  Ferdinand  were  not 
already  around  my  walls,"  said  Boabdil  impatiently. 

"  The  armies  of  Sennacherib  were  as  mighty,"  answered 
Almamen. 

"  Wise  seer,"  returned  the  King,  in  a  tone  half  sarcastic  and 
half  solemn,  "  we,  the  Mussulmen  of  Spain,  are  not  the  blind 
fanatics  of  the  Eastern  world.  On  us  have  fallen  the  lights 
of  philosophy  and  science ;  and  if  the  more  clear-sighted 
among  us  yet  outwardly  reverence  the  forms  and  fables  wor- 
shipped by  the  multitude,  it  is  from  the  wisdom  of  policy,  not 
the  folly  of  belief.  Talk  not  to  me,  then,  of  thine  examples  of 
the  ancient  and  elder  creeds  :  the  agents  of  God  for  this  world 
are  now,  at  least,  in  men,  not  angels  ;  and  if  I  wait  till  Fer- 
dinand share  the  destiny  of  Sennacherib,  I  wait  only  till  the 
Standard  of  the  Cross  wave  above  the  Vermilion  Towers." 

"Yet,"  said  Almamen,  "while  my  lord  the  King  rejects  the 
fanaticism  of  belief,  doth  he  reject  the  fanaticism  of  persecu- 


LEILA.  15 

tion  ?  You  disbelieve  the  stories  of  the  Hebrews ;  yet  you 
suffer  the  Hebrews  themselves,  that  ancient  and  kindred  Ara- 
bian race,  to  be  ground  to  the  dust,  condemned  and  tortured 
by  your  judges,  your  informers,  your  soldiers,  and  your  sub- 
jects." 

'*  The  base  misers !  they  deserve  their  fate,"  answered 
Boabdil  loftily.  "  Gold  is  their  god,  and  the  market-place 
their  country  ;  amidst  the  tears  and  groans  of  nations,  they 
sympathize  only  with  the  rise  and  fall  of  trade ;  and,  the 
thieves  of  the  universe  !  while  their  hand  is  against  every 
man's  coffer,  why  wonder  that  they  provoke  the  hand  of  every 
man  against  their  throats  ?  Worse  than  the  tribe  of  Hanifa, 
who  eat  their  god  only  in  time  of  famine,*  the  race  of  Moisaf 
would  sell  the  Seven  Heavens  for  the  dent  J  on  the  back  of  the 
date  stone." 

"  Your  laws  leave  them  no  ambition  but  that  of  avarice," 
replied  Almamen  ;  *'  and  as  the  plant  will  crook  and  distort 
its  trunk,  to  raise  its  head  through  every  obstacle  to  the  sun, 
so  the  mind  of  man  twists  and  perverts  itself,  if  legitimate  open- 
ings are  denied  it,  to  find  its  natural  element  in  the  gale  of 
power,  or  the  sunshine  of  esteem.  These  Hebrews  were  not 
traffickers  and  misers  in  their  own  sacred  land  when  they  routed 
your  ancestors,  the  Arab  armies  of  old  ;  and  gnawed  the  flesh 
from  their  bones  in  famine,  rather  than  yield  a  weaker  city 
than  Granada  to  a  mightier  force  than  the  holiday  lords  of 
Spain.  Let  this  pass.  My  lord  rejects  the  belief  in  the  agen- 
cies of  the  angels  ;  doth  he  still  retain  belief  in  the  wisdom  of 
mortal  men  ?" 

"Yes  !"  returned  Boabdil  quickly  ;  "for  of  the  one  I  know^ 
nought ;  of  the  other,  mine  own  senses  can  be  the  judge. 
Almamen,  my  fiery  kinsman,  Muza,  hath  this  evening  been 
with  me.  He  hath  urged  me  to  reject  the  fears  of  my  people, 
which  chain  my  panting  spirit  within  these  walls ;  he  hath 
urged  me  to  gird  on  yonder  shield  and  cimiter,  and  to  appear 
in  the  Vivarrambla,  at  the  head  of  the  nobles  of  Granada.  My 
heart  leaps  high  at  the  thought !  And  if  I  cannot  live,  at  least 
I  will  die — a  King  !  " 

"  It  is  nobly  spoken,"  said  Almamen  coldly. 

"You  approve,  then,  my  design?" 

"The  friends  of  the  King  cannot  approve  the  ambition  of 
the  King  to  die." 

♦  The  tribe  of  Hanifa  worshipped  a  lump  of  dough. 

t  Moisa,  Moses. 

X  A  proverb  used  in  the  Koran,  signifying  the  smallest  possible  trifl*. 


T4  iEILA. 

"Ha!  "said  Boabdil  in  an  altered  voice,  "thou  thinkest, 
then,  that  I  am  doomed  to  perish  in  this  struggle?" 

"As  the  hour  shall  be  chosen,  wilt  thou  fall  or  triumph." 

"And  that  hour?" 

"Is  not  yet  come." 

"  Dost  thou  read  the  hour  in  the  stars?" 

"  Let  Moorish  seers  cultivate  that  frantic  credulity  :  thy  ser- 
vant sees  but  in  the  stars  worlds  mightier  than  this  little  earth, 
whose  light  would  neither  wane  nor  wink,  if  earth  itself  were 
swept  from  the  infinities  of  space." 

"Mysterious  man!"  said  Boabdil;  whence,  then,  is  thy 
power?     Whence  thy  knowledge  of  the  future?" 

Almamen  approached  the  King,  as  he  now  stood  by  the 
balcony. 

"Behold!"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  waters  of  the  Darro — 
"yonder  stream  is  of  an  element  in  which  man  cannot  live  nor 
breathe  :  above,  in  the  thin  and  impalpable  air,  our  steps  can- 
not find  a  footing,  the  armies  of  all  earth  cannot  build  an  em- 
pire. And  yet,  by  the  exercise  of  a  little  art,  the  fishes  and 
the  birds,  the  inhabitants  of  the  air  and  the  water,  minister  to 
our  most  humble  wants,  the  most  common  of  our  enjoyments  ; 
so  it  is  with  the  true  science  of  enchantment.  Thinkest  thou 
that,  while  the  petty  surface  of  the  world  is  crowded  with  living 
things,  there  is  no  life  in  the  vast  centre  within  the  earth,  and 
the  immense  ether  that  surrounds  it?  As  the  fisherman  snares 
his  prey,  as  the  fowler  entraps  the  bird,  so,  by  the  art  and  genius 
of  our  human  mind,  we  may  thrall  and  command  the  subtler 
beings  of  realms  and  elements  which  our  material  bodies  can- 
not enter,  our  gross  senses  cannot  survey.  This,  then,  is  my 
lore.  Of  other  worlds  know  I  nought  ;  l)ut  of  the  things  of 
this  world,  whether  men,  or,  as  your  legends  term  them, 
ghouls  and  genii,  I  have  learned  something.  To  the  future, 
I  myself  am  blind  ;  but  I  can  invoke  and  conjure  \ip 
those  whose  eyes  are  more  piercing,  whose  natures  are  more 
gifted." 

"  Prove  to  me  thy  power,"  said  Boabdil,  awed  less  by  the 
words  than  by  the  thrilling  voice  and  the  impressive  aspect  of 
the  enchanter. 

"  Is  not  the  King's  will  my  law?  "  answered  Almamen  ;  "  be 
his  will  obeyed.     To-morrow  night  I  await  thee." 

"Where?" 

Almamen  paused  a  moment,  and  then  whispered  a  sentence 
in  the  King's  ear  :  Boabdil  started,  and  turned  pale. 

"  A  fearful  spot !  " 


LEILA.  15 

"  So  is  the  Alhambra  itself,  great  Boabdil  ;  while  Ferdinand 
is  without  the  walls,  and  Muza  within  the  city." 

*'  Muza  !     Darest  thou  mistrust  my  bravest  warrior  ?  " 

**  What  wise  King  will  trust  the  idol  of  the  King's  army  ? 
Did  Boabdil  fall  to-morrow,  by  a  chance  javelin,  in  the  field, 
whom  would  the  nobles  and  the  warriors  place  upon  his  throne  ? 
Doth  it  require  an  enchanter's  lore  to  whisper  to  thy  heart  the 
answer,  in  the  name  of  '  Muza  '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  wretched  state  !  oh,  miserable  King  !  "  exclaimed  Boab- 
dil, in  a  tone  of  great  anguish.  "  I  never  had  a  father  ;  I  have 
now  no  people  ;  a  little  while,  and  I  shall  have  no  country. 
Am  I  never  to  have  a  friend  ?  " 

"  A  friend  !  What  king  ever  had  ? "  returned  Almamen 
dryly. 

"  Away,  man — away  ! "  cried  Boabdil,  as  the  impatient  spirit 
of  his  rank  and  race  shot  dangerous  fire  from  his  eyes  ;  "your 
cold  and  bloodless  wisdom  freezes  up  all  the  veins  of  my  man- 
hood !  Glory,  confidence,  human  sympathy,  and  feeling — • 
your  counsels  annihilate  them  all.  Leave  me  !  I  would  be 
alone." 

"  We  meet  to-morrow,  at  midnight,  mighty  Boabdil,"  said 
Almamen,  with  his  usual  unmoved  and  passionless  tones. 
"  May  the  King  live  forever  !  " 

The  King  turned  ;  but  his  monitor  had  already  disappeared. 
He  went  as  he  came — noiseless  and  sudden  as  a  ghost. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

THE    LOVERS. 

When  Muza  parted  from  Almamen,  he  bent  his  steps 
towards  the  hill  that  rises  opposite  the  ascent  crowned  with  the 
towers  of  the  Alhambra;  the  sides  and  summit  of  which  emi- 
nence were  tenanted  by  the  luxurious  population  of  the  city. 
He  selected  the  more  private  and  secluded  paths;  and,  half 
way  up  the  hill,  arrived,  at  last,  before  a  low  wall  of  consider- 
able extent,  which  girded  the  gardens  of  some  wealthier 
inhabitant  of  the  city.  He  looked  long  and  anxiously  round  : 
all  was  solitary  ;  nor  was  the  stillness  broken,  save  as  an  occa- 
sional breeze,  from  the  snowy  heights  of  the  Sierra  Nevada, 
rustled  the  fragrant  leaves  of  the  citron  and  pomegranate  ;  or 
as  the  silver  tinkling  of  waterfalls  chimed  melodiously  within 
the  gardens.  The  Moor's  heart  beat  high  :  a  moment  more, 
and  he  had  scaled  the  wall,  and  found  himself  upon  a  green 


l6  LEILA. 

sward,  variegated  by  the  rich  colors  ot  many  a  sleeping  flower, 
and  shaded  by  groves  and  alleys  of  luxuriant  foliage  and  golden 
fruits. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  stood  beside  a  house  that  seemed 
of  a  construction  anterior  to  the  Moorish  dynasty.  It  was 
built  over  low  cloisters,  formed  by  heavy  and  time-worn 
pillars,  concealed,  for  the  most  part,  by  a  profusion  of  roses 
and  creeping  shrubs  :  the  lattices  above  the  cloisters  opened 
upon  large  gilded  balconies,  the  super-addition  of  Moriscan 
taste.  In  one  only  of  the  casements  a  lamp  was  visible  ;  tlie 
rest  of  the  mansion  was  dark,  as  if,  save  in  that  chamber, 
sleep  kept  watch  over  the  inmates.  It  was  to  this  window 
that  the  Moor  stole  ;  and,  after  a  moment's  pause,  he  mur- 
mured rather  than  sung,  so  low  and  whispered  was  his  voice, 
the  following  simple  verses,  slightly  varied  from  an  old 
Arabian  poet ; 

SERENADE. 

Light  of  my  soul,  arise,  arise  ! 
Thy  sister  lights  are  in  the  skies  ; 

We  want  thine  eyes, 

Thy  joyous  eyes  ; 
The  Night  is  mourning  for  thine  eyes  ! 
The  sacred  verse  is  on  my  sword, 
But  on  my  heart  thy  name  : 
The  words  on  each  alike  adored  ; 
The  truth  of  each  the  same — 
The  same  ! — alas  !  too  well  I  feel 
The  heart  is  truer  than  the  steel ! 

Light  of  my  soul  !  upon  me  shine  ; 
Night  wakes  her  stars  to  envy  mine. 

Those  eyes  of  tliine, 

Wild  eyes  of  thine. 
What  stars  are  like  those  eyes  of  thine  ? 

As  he  concluded,  the  lattice  softly  opened  ;  and  a  female 
form  appeared  on  the  balcony. 

"Ah,  Leila!"  said  the  Moor,  "I  see  thee,  and  I  am 
blessed ! " 

"  Hush  !  "  answered  Leila  ;  "speak  low,  nor  tarry  long  :  I 
fear  that  our  interviews  are  suspected  ;  and  this  (she  added, 
in  a  trembling  voice)  may  perhaps  be  the  last  time  we  shall 
meet." 

"  Holy  Prophet !  "  exclaimed  Muza  passionately,  "  what  do 
I  hear  ?  Why  this  mystery  ?  Why  cannot  I  learn  thine 
origin,  thy  rank,  thy  parents  ?  Think  you,  beautiful  Leila, 
that   Granada  holds   a  house  lofty  enough   to   disdain   the 


LEILA,  ij 

alliance  with  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan  ?  And  oh  !  "  he  added, 
(sinking  the  haughty  tones  of  his  voice  into  accents  of  the 
softest  tenderness),  "  if  not  too  high  to  scorn  me,  what  should 
war  against  our  loves  and  our  bridals  ?  For  worn  equally  on 
my  heart  were  the  flower  of  thy  sweet  self,  whether  the  moun- 
tain top  or  the  valley  gave  birth  to  the  odor  and  the  bloom." 

"  Alas  !  "  answered  Leila,  weeping,  "  the  mystery  thou  com- 
plainest  of  is  as  dark  to  myself  as  thee.  How  often  have  I 
told  thee  that  I  know  nothing  of  my  birth  or  childish  fortunes, 
save  a  dim  memory  of  a  more  distant  and  burning  clime  ; 
where,  amidst  sands  and  wastes,  springs  the  everlasting  cedar, 
and  the  camel  grazes  on  stunted  herbage  withering  in  the 
fiery  air.  Then,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  a  mother :  fond 
eyes  looked  on  me,  and  soft  songs  hushed  me  into  sleep." 

"Thy  mother's  soul  has  passed  into  mine,"  said  the  Moor 
tenderly. 

Leila  continued  :  "Borne  hither,  I  passed  from  childhood 
into  youth  within  these  walls.  Slaves  minister  to  my  slightest 
wish  ;  and  those  who  have  seen  both  state  and  poverty,  which 
I  have  not,  tell  me  that  treasures  and  splendor,  that  might 
glad  a  monarch,  are  prodigalized  around  me  :  but  of  ties  and 
kindred  know  I  little :  my  father,  a  stern  and  silent  man, 
visits  me  but  rarely — sometimes  months  pass,  and  I  see  him 
not  ;  but  I  feel  he  loves  me  ;  and,  till  I  know  thee,  Muza,  my 
brightest  hours  were  in  listening  to  the  footsteps  and  flying  to 
the  arms  of  that  solitary  friend." 

"  Know  you  not  his  name  ?" 

"  Nor  I,  nor  any  one  of  the  houshold  ;  save  perhaps  Ximen, 
the  chief  of  the  slaves,  an  old  and  withered  man,  whose  very 
eye  chills  me  into  fear  and  silence." 

"Strange!"  said  the  Moor  musingly;  "yet  why  think  you 
our  love  is  discovered,  or  can  be  thwarted  ?" 

"Hush!  Ximen  sought  me  this  day  :  'Maiden,'  said  he, 
'men's  footsteps  have  been  tracked  within  the  gardens;  if  your 
sire  know  this,  you  will  have  looked  your  last  on  Granada. 
Learn,'  he  added  (in  a  softer  voice,  as  he  saw  me  tremble), 
'  that  permission  were  easier  given  to  thee  to  wed  the  wild 
tiger,  than  to  mate  with  the  loftiest  noble  of  Morisca  !  Be- 
ware ! '  He  spoke,  and  left  me.  O  Muza  !  (she  continued, 
passionately  wringing  her  hands),  my  heart  sinks  within  me, 
and  omen  and  doom  rise  dark  before  my  sight !  " 

"  By  my  father's  head,  these  obstacles  but  fire  my  love  ;  and 
I  would  scale  to  thy  possession,  though  every  step  in  the  ladder 
were  the  corpses  of  a  hundred  foes !  " 


l8  LEILA. 

Scarcely  had  the  fiery  and  high-souled  Moor  uttered  his 
boast,  than,  from  some  unseen  hand  amidst  the  groves,  a  jave- 
lin whirred  past  him,  and,  as  the  air  it  raised  came  sharp  upon 
his  cheek,  half  buried  its  quivering  shaft  in  the  trunk  of  a  tree 
behind  him. 

"Fly,  fly,  and  save  thyself!  O  God,  protect  him!"  cried 
Leila ;  and  she  vanished  within  the  chamber. 

The  Moor  did  not  wait  the  result  of  a  deadlier  aim  ;  he 
turned  ;  yet,  in  the  instinct  of  his  fierce  nature,  not  from,  but 
against,  the  foe  ;  his  drawn  ciraiter  in  his  hand,  the  half-sup- 
pressed cry  of  wrath  trembling  on  his  lips,  he  sprang  forward 
in  the  direction  whence  the  javelin  had  sped.  With  eyes  ac- 
customed  to  the  ambuscades  of  Moorish  warfare,  he  searched 
eagerly,  yet  warily,  through  the  dark  and  sighing  foliage.  No 
sign  of  life  met  his  gaze  ;  and  at  length,  grimly  and  reluctantly, 
he  retraced  his  steps,  and  quitted  the  demesnes :  but,  just  as 
he  had  cleared  the  wall,  a  voice — low,  but  sharp  and  shrill — 
came  from  the  gardens. 

"  Thou  art  spared,"  it  said,  "  but,  haply,  for  a  more  miserable 
doom ! " 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    FATHER    AND   DAUGHTER. 

The  chamber  into  which  Leila  retreated  bore  out  the  char- 
acter she  had  given  of  the  interior  of  her  home.  The  fashion 
of  its  ornament  and  decoration  was  foreign  to  that  adopted  by 
the  Moors  of  Granada.  It  had  a  more  massive  and,  if  we  may 
use  the  term,  Egyptian  gorgeousness.  The  walls  were  covered 
with  the  stuffs  of  the  East,  stiff  with  gold,  embroidered  upon 
ground  of  the  deepest  purple  ;  strange  characters,  apparently 
in  some  foreign  tongue,  were  wrought  in  the  tesselated  cornices 
and  on  the  heavy  ceiling,  which  was  supported  by  square  pillars, 
round  which  were  twisted  serpents  of  gold  and  enamel,  with 
eyes  to  which  enormous  emeralds  gave  a  green  and  lifelike 
glare :  various  scrolls  and  musical  instruments  lay  scattered 
upon  marble  tables :  and  a  solitary  lamp  of  burnished  silver 
cast  a  dim  and  subdued  light  around  the  chamber.  The  effect 
of  the  whole,  though  splendid,  was  gloomy,  strange,  and  oppres- 
sive, and  rather  suited  to  the  thick  and  cavelike  architecture 
which  of  old  protected  the  inhabitants  of  Thebes  and  Memphis 
from  the  rays  of  the  African  sun,  than  to  the  transparent  heavett 
and  light  pavilions  of  the  graceful  orientals  of  Granada, 


lEiLA.  t$ 

Leila  stood  within  this  chamber,  pale  and  breathless,  with 
her  lips  apart,  her  hands  clasped,  her  very  soul  in  her  ears  ; 
nor  was  it  possible  to  conceive  a  more  perfect  ideal  of  some 
delicate  and  brilliant  Peri,  captured  in  the  palace  of  a  hostile 
and  gloomy  Genius.  Her  form  was  of  the  lightest  shape  con- 
sistent with  the  roundness  of  womanly  beauty ;  and  there  was 
something  in  it  of  that  elastic  and  fawnlike  grace  which  a 
sculptor  seeks  to  embody  in  his  dreams  of  a  being  more  aerial 
than  those  of  earth.  Her  luxuriant  hair  was  dark  indeed,  but 
a  purple  and  glossy  hue  redeemed  it  from  that  heaviness  of 
shade  too  common  in  the  tresses  of  the  Asiatics  ;  and  her  com- 
plexion, naturally  pale,  but  clear  and  lustrous,  would  have  been 
deemed  fair  even  in  the  North.  Her  features,  slightly  aquiline, 
were  formed  in  the  rarest  mould  of  symmetry,  and  her  full, 
rich  lips  disclosed  teeth  that  might  have  shamed  the  pearl. 
But  the  chief  charm  of  that  exquisite  countenance  was  in  an 
expression  of  softness  and  purity,  and  intellectual  sentiment, 
that  seldom  accompanies  that  cast  of  loveliness,  and  was  wholly 
foreign  to  the  voluptuous  and  dreamy  languor  of  Moorish 
maidens  ;  Leila  had  been  educated,  and  the  statue  had  received 
a  soul. 

After  a  few  minutes  of  intense  suspense,  she  again  stole  to 
the  lattice,  gently  unclosed  it,  and  looked  forth.  Far,  through 
an  opening  amidst  the  trees,  she  descried  for  a  single  moment 
the  erect  and  stately  figure  of  her  lover,  darkening  the  moon- 
shine on  the  sward,  as  now,  quitting  his  fruitless  search,  he 
turned  his  lingering  gaze  towards  the  lattice  of  his  beloved  ; 
the  thick  and  interlacing  foliage  quickly  hid  him  from  her 
eyes  ;  but  Leila  had  seen  enough — she  turned  within,  and  said, 
as  grateful  tears  trickled  down  her  cheeks,  and  she  sank  on  her 
knees  upon  the  piled  cushions  of  the  chamber  :  "God  of  my 
fathers  !     I  bless  thee — he  is  safe  !  " 

"  And  yet  (she  added,  as  a  painful  thought  crossed  her), 
how  may  I  pray  for  him?  We  kneel  not  to  the  same  divinity  ; 
and  I  have  been  taught  to  loathe  and  shudder  at  his  creed  ! 
Alas  !  How  will  this  end  ?  Fatal  was  the  hour  when  he  first 
beheld  me  in  yonder  gardens  ;  more  fatal  still  the  hour  in 
which  he  crossed  the  barrier,  and  told  Leila  that  she  was  be- 
loved by  the  hero  whose  arm  was  the  shelter,  whose  name  is 
the  blessing,  of  Granada.     Ah,  me  !     Ah,  me  !  " 

The  young  maiden  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 
sunk  into  a  passionate  revery,  broken  only  by  her  sobs.  Some 
time  had  passed  in  this  undisturbed  indulgence  of  her  grief, 
when  the  arras  was  gently  put  aside,  and  a  man  of  remarkable 


20  LEILA. 

garb  and  mien  advanced  into  the  chamber,  pausing  as  he  beheld 
her  dejected  attitude,  and  gazing  on  her  with  a  look  in  which 
pity  and  tenderness  seemed  to  struggle  against  habitual  severity 
and  sternness. 

**  Leila  !  "  said  the  intruder. 

Leila  started,  and  a  deep  blush  suffused  her  countenance  ;  she 
dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  came  forward  with  a  vain 
attempt  to  smile. 

"My  father,  welcome!" 

The  stranger  seated  himself  on  the  cushions,  and  motioned 
Leila  to  his  side. 

"  These  tears  are  fresh  upon  thy  cheek,"  said  he  gravely  ; 
"they  are  the  witness  of  thy  race  !  Our  daughters  are  born 
to  weep,  and  our  sons  to  groan  !  Ashes  are  on  the  head  of 
the  mighty,  and  the  Fountains  of  the  Beautiful  run  with  gall  ! 
Oh,  that  we  could  but  struggle  ;  that  we  could  but  dare  ; 
that  we  could  raise  up  our  heads,  and  unite  against  the  bond- 
age of  the  evil  doer  !  It  may  not  be — but  one  man  shall  avenge 
a  nation  !  " 

The  dark  face  of  Leila's  father,  well  fitted  to  express  power- 
ful emotion,  became  terrible  in  its  wrath  and  passion  ;  his  brow 
and  lip  worked  convulsively  ;  but  the  paroxysm  was  brief  ; 
and  scarce  could  she  shudder  at  its  intensity,  ere  it  had  sub- 
sided into  calm. 

"  Enough  of  these  thoughts,  which  thou,  a  woman  and  a 
child,  art  not  formed  to  witness.  Leila,  thou  hast  been  nur- 
tured with  tenderness,  and  schooled  with  care.  Harsh  and 
unloving  may  I  have  seemed  to  thee,  but  I  would  have  shed  the 
best  drops  of  my  heart  to  have  saved  thy  young  years  from  a 
single  pang.  Nay,  listen  to  me,  silently.  That  thou  mightest 
one  day  be  worthy  of  thy  race,  and  that  thine  hours  might  not 
pass  in  indolent  and  weary  lassitude,  thou  hast  been  taught  the 
lessons  of  a  knowledge  rarely  given  to  thy  sex.  Not  thine  the 
lascivious  arts  of  the  Moorish  maidens  ;  not  thine  their  harlot 
songs,  and  their  dances  of  lewd  delight ;  thy  delicate  limbs 
were  but  taught  the  attitude  that  Nature  dedicates  to  the  wor- 
ship of  a  God,  and  the  music  of  thy  voice  was  tuned  to  the 
songs  of  thy  fallen  country,  sad  with  the  memory  of  her  wrongs, 
animated  with  the  names  of  her  heroes,  holy  with  the  solemnity 
of  her  prayers.  These  scrolls  and  the  lessons  of  our  seers  have 
imparted  to  thee  such  of  our  science  and  our  history  as  may 
fit  thy  mind  to  aspire,  and  thy  heart  to  feel  for  a  sacred  cause. 
Thou  listenest  to  me,  Leila  ?  " 

Perplexed  and  wondering,  for  never  before  had  her  father 


LEILA.  21 

addressed  her  In  such  a  strain,  the  maiden  answered  with  an 
earnestness  of  manner  that  seemed  to  content  the  questioner  ; 
and  he  resumed,  with  an  altered,  hollow,  solemn  voice : 

"  Then  curse  the  persecutors !  Daughter  of  the  great 
Hebrew  race,  arise  and  curse  the  Moorish  taskmaster  and 
spoiler  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  adjuror  himself  rose,  lifting  his  right  hand 
on  high,  while  his  left  touched  the  shoulder  of  the  maiden. 
But  she,  after  gazing  a  moment  in  wild  and  terrified  amaze- 
ment upon  his  face,  fell  cowering  at  his  knees  ;  and  clasping 
them,  imploringly  exclaimed,  in  scarce  articulate  murmurs  : 

"  Oh,  spare  me  !  spare  me  !  " 

The  Hebrew,  for  such  he  was,  surveyed  her,  as  she  thus 
quailed  at  his  feet,  with  a  look  of  rage  and  scorn  :  his  hand 
wandered  to  his  poniard,  he  half  unsheathed  it,  thrust  it  back 
with  a  muttered  curse,  and  then,  deliberately  drawing  it  forth, 
cast  it  on  the  ground  beside  her. 

"  Degenerate  girl  !  "  he  said,  in  accents  that  vainly  struggled 
for  calm,  "  if  thou  hast  admitted  to  thy  heart  one  unworthy 
thought  towards  a  Moorish  infidel,  dig  deep  and  root  it  out, 
even  with  the  knife,  and  to  the  death — so  wilt  thou  save  this 
hand  from  that  degrading  task." 

He  drew  himself  hastily  from  her  grasp,  and  left  the  unfor- 
tunate girl  alone  and  senseless. 


CHAPTER  V. 

AMBITION    DISTORTED    INTO    VICE    BV    LAW. 

On  descending  a  broad  flight  of  stairs  from  the  apartment, 
the  Hebrew  encountered  an  old  man  habited  in  loose  garments 
of  silk  and  fur,  upon  whose  withered  and  wrinkled  face  life 
seemed  scarcely  to  struggle  against  the  advance  of  death,  so 
haggard,  wan,  and  corpse-like,  was  its  aspect. 

"  Ximen,"  said  the  Israelite,  "trusty  and  beloved  servant, 
follow  me  to  the  cavern."  He  did  not  tarry  for  an  answer,  but 
continued  his  way  with  rapid  strides,  through  various  courts 
and  alleys,  till  he  came  at  length  into  a  narrow,  dark,  and  damp 
gallery,  that  seemed  cut  from  the  living  rock.  At  its  entrance 
was  a  strong  grate,  which  gave  way  to  the  Hebrew's  touch 
upon  the  spring,  though  the  united  strength  of  a  hundred  men 
could  not  have  moved  it  from  its  hinge.  Taking  up  a  brazen 
lamp  that  burnt  in  a  niche  within  it,  the  Hebrew  paused  im- 


22  LEILA 

patiently  till  the  feeble  steps  of  the  old  man  reached  the  spot ; 
and  then,  reclosing  the  grate,  pursued  his  winding  way  for  a 
considerable  distance,  till  he  stopped  suddenly  by  a  part  of  the 
rock  which  seemed  in  no  respect  different  from  the  rest  ;  and 
so  artfully  contrived  and  concealed  was  the  door  which  he  now 
opened,  and  so  suddenly  did  it  yield  to  his  hand,  that  it  ap- 
peared literally  the  effect  of  enchantment,  when  the  rock 
yawned,  and  discovered  a  circular  cavern,  lighted  with  brazen 
lamps,  and  spread  with  hangings  and  cushions  of  thick  furs. 
Upon  rude  and  seemingly  natural  pillars  of  rock,  various 
antique  and  rusty  arms  were  suspended  ;  in  large  niches  were 
deposited  scrolls,  clasped  and  bound  with  iron  ;  and  a  pro- 
fusion of  strange  and  uncouth  instruments  and  machines  (in 
which  modern  science  might,  perhaps,  discover  the  tools  of 
chemical  invention)  gave  a  magical  and  ominous  aspect  to  the 
wild  abode. 

The  Hebrew  cast  himself  on  a  couch  of  furs  ;  and,  as  the 
old  man  entered  and  closed  the  door  :  "  Ximen,"  said  he,  "  fill 
out  wine — it  is  a  soothing  counsellor,  and  I  need  it." 

Extracting  from  one  of  the  recesses  of  the  cavern  a  flask  and 
goblet,  Ximen  proffered  to  his  lord  a  copious  draught  of  the 
sparkling  vintage  of  the  Vega,  which  seemed  to  invigorate  and 
restore  him. 

"Old  man,"  said  he,  concluding  the  potation  with  a  deep- 
drawn  sigh,  "  fill  to  thyself — drink  till  thy  veins  feel  young." 

Ximen  obeyed  the  mandate  but  imperfectly  ;  the  wine  just 
touched  his  lips,  and  the  goblet  was  put  aside. 

**  Ximen,"  resumed  the  Israelite,  "  how  many  of  our  race  have 
been  butchered  by  the  avarice  of  the  Moorish  kings,  since  first 
thou  didst  set  foot  within  the  city  !  " 

"  Three  thousand — the  number  was  completed  last  winter, 
by  the  order  of  Jusef,  the  vizier  ;  and  their  goods  and  coffers 
are  transformed  into  shafts  and  cimiters,  against  the  dogs  of 
Galilee." 

"  Three  thousand — no  more  !  Three  thousand  only  !  I 
would  the  number  had  been  tripled,  for  the  interest  is  becom- 
ing due  !  " 

"  My  brother,  and  my  son,  and  my  grandson,  are  among  the 
number,"  said  the  old  man,  and  his  face  grew  yet  more  death- 
like. 

"  Their  monuments  shall  be  in  hecatombs  of  their  tyrants. 
They  shall  not,  at  least,  call  the  Jews  niggards  in  revenge." 

**  But  pardon  me,  noble  chief  of  a  fallen  people  ;  thinkest 
thou  we  shall  be  less  despoiled  and  trodden  under  foot  by  yon 


LEILA.  33 

haughty  and  stiff-necked  Nazarenes,  than  by  the  Arabian  mis- 
believers ? " 

"  Accursed,  in  truth,  are  both,"  returned  the  Hebrew  ;  "  but 
the  one  promise  more  fairly  than  the  other.  I  have  seen  this 
Ferdinand,  and  his  proud  Queen  ;  they  are  pledged  to  accord 
us  rights  and  immunities  we  have  never  known  before  in 
Europe." 

"And   they  will  not  touch   our  traffic,  our  gains,  our  gold?" 

"  Out  on  thee  !  "  cried  the  fiery  Israelite,  stamping  on  the 
ground.  "  I  would  all  the  gold  of  earth  were  sunk  into  the 
everlasting  pit  !  It  is  this  mean,  and  miserable,  and  loath- 
some leprosy  of  avarice,  that  gnaws  away  from  our  whole  race 
the  heart,  the  soul,  nay,  the  very  form,  of  man  !  Many  a  time, 
when  I  have  seen  the  lordly  features  of  the  descendants  of 
Solomon  and  Joshua  (features  that  stamp  the  nobility  of  the 
Eastern  world  born  to  mastery  and  command)  sharpened  and 
furrowed  by  petty  cares  ;  when  I  have  looked  upon  the  frame 
of  the  strong  man  bowed,  like  a  crawling  reptile,  to  some  huck- 
stering bargainer  of  silks  and  unguents,  and  heard  the  voice, 
that  should  be  raising  the  battle-cry,  smoothed  into  fawning 
accents  of  base  fear,  or  yet  baser  hope,  I  have  asked  myself,  if 
I  am  indeed  of  the  blood  of  Israel  !  and  thanked  the  great 
Jehovah,  that  he  hath  spared  me,  at  least,  the  curse  that  hath 
blasted  my  brotherhood  into  usurers  and  slaves  !  " 

Ximen  prudently  forbore  an  answer  to  enthusiasm  which  he 
neither  shared  nor  understood  ;  but,  after  a  brief  silence, 
turned  back  the  stream  of  the  conversation. 

"  You  resolve,  then,  upon  prosecuting  vengeance  on  the 
Moors,  at  whatsoever  hazard  of  the  broken  faith  of  these 
Nazarenes  ?" 

"Ay,  the  vapor  of  human  blood  hath  risen  unto  heaven,  and, 
collected  into  thunder-clouds,  hangs  over  the  doomed  and 
guilty  city.  And  now,  Ximen,  I  have  a  new  cause  for  hatred 
to  the  Moors  :  the  flower  that  I  have  reared  and  watched,  the 
spoiler  hath  sought  to  pluck  it  from  my  hearth.  Leila — thou 
hast  guarded  her  ill,  Ximen  ;  and,  wert  thou  not  endeared  to 
me  by  thy  very  malice  and  vices,  the  rising  sun  should  have 
seen  thy  trunk  on  the  waters  of  the  Darro." 

"  My  lord,"  replied  Ximen,  "  if  thou,  the  wisest  of  our 
people,  canst  not  guard  a  maiden  from  love,  how  canst  thou 
see  crime  in  the  dull  eyes  and  numbed  senses  of  a  miserable 
old  man  ?  " 

The  Israelite  did  not  answer,  nor  seem  to  hear  this  depreca- 
tory remonstrance.     He  appeared  rather  occupied  with  his  own 


24  LEILA, 

thoughts ;  and,  speaking  to  himself,  he  muttered  :  "  It  must  be 
so  :  the  sacrifice  is  hard — the  danger  great ;  but  here,  at  least, 
it  is  more  immediate.  It  shall  be  done.  Ximen,"  he  con- 
tinued, speaking  aloud  ;  "  dost  thou  feel  assured  that  even  mine 
own  countrymen,  mine  own  tribe,  know  me  not  as  one  of  them  ? 
Were  my  despised  birth  and  religion  published,  my  limbs 
would  be  torn  asunder  as  an  impostor  ;  and  all  the  arts  of  the 
Cabala  could  not  save  me." 

"  Doubt  not,  great  master  ;  none  in  Granada,  save  thy  faith- 
ful Ximen,  know  thy  secret." 

"So  let  me  dream  and  hope.  And  now  to  my  work  ;  for 
this  night  must  be  spent  in  toil." 

The  Hebrew  drew  before  him  some  of  the  strange  instru- 
ments we  have  described  ;  and  took  from  the  recesses  in  the 
rock  several  scrolls.  The  old  man  lay  at  his  feet,  ready  to 
obey  his  behests  ;  but,  to  all  appearance,  rigid  and  motionless 
as  the  dead,  whom  his  blanched  hues  and  shrivelled  form 
resembled.  It  was,  indeed,  as  the  picture  of  the  enchanter  at 
his  work,  and  the  corpse  of  some  man  of  old.  revived  from  the 
grave  to  minister  to  his  spells,  and  execute  his  commands. 

Enough  in  the  preceding  conversation  has  transpired  to  con- 
vince the  reader  that  the  Hebrew,  in  whom  he  has  already 
detected  tlie  Almamen  of  the  Alhambra,  was  of  no  character 
common  to  his  tribe.  Of  a  lineage  that  shrouded  itself  in  the 
darkness  of  his  mysterious  people,  in  their  day  of  power,  and 
possessed  of  immense  wealth,  which  threw  into  poverty  the 
resources  of  Gothic  princes,  the  youth  of  that  remarkable  man 
had  been  spent,  not  in  traffic  and  merchandise,  but  travel  and 
study. 

As  a  child,  his  home  had  been  in  Granada.  He  had  seen 
his  father  butchered  by  the  late  King,  Muley  Abul  Hassan, 
without  other  crime  than  his  reputed  riches  ;  and  his  body 
literally  cut  open,  to  search  for  the  jewels  it  was  supposed  he 
had  swallowed.  He  saw  ;  and,  boy  as  he  was,  he  vowed 
revenge.  A  distant  kinsman  bore  the  orphan  to  lands  more 
secure  from  persecution  ;  and  the  art  with  which  the  Jews 
concealed  their  wealth,  scattering  it  over  various  cities,  had 
secured  to  Almamen  the  treasures  the  tyrant  of  Granada  had 
failed  to  grasp. 

He  had  visited  the  greater  part  of  the  world  then  known  ; 
and  resided  for  many  years  in  the  court  of  the  Sultan  of  that 
hoary  Egypt,  which  still  retained  its  fame  for  abstruse  science 
and  magic  lore.  He  had  not  in  vain  applied  himself  to  such 
tempting  and  wild  researches;  and  had  acquired  many  of  those 


LEILA.  25 

secrets,  now  perhaps  lost  forever  to  the  world.  We  do  not 
mean  to  intimate  that  he  attained  to  what  legend  and  supersti- 
tion impose  upon  our  faith  as  the  art  of  sorcery.  He  could 
neither  command  the  elements,  nor  pierce  the  veil  of  the  future  ; 
scatter  armies  with  a  word,  nor  pass  from  spot  to  spot  by  the 
utterance  of  a  charmed  formula.  But  men  who,  for  ages,  had 
passed  their  lives  in  attempting  all  the  effects  that  can  aston- 
ish and  awe  the  vulgar,  could  not  but  learn  some  secrets  which 
all  the  more  sober  wisdom  of  modern  times  would  search 
ineffectually  to  solve  or  to  revive.  And  many  of  such  arts, 
acquired  mechanically  (their  invention  often  the  work  of  a 
chemical  accident),  those  who  attained  to  them  could  not 
always  explain,  nor  account  for  the  phenomena  they  created, 
so  that  the  mightiness  of  their  own  deceptions  deceived  them- 
selves ;  and  they  often  believed  they  were  the  masters  of  the 
Nature  to  which  they  were,  in  reality,  but  erratic  and  wild  dis- 
ciples. Of  such  was  the  student  in  that  grim  cavern.  He  was, 
in  some  measure,  the  dupe,  partly  of  his  own  bewildered  wis- 
dom, partly  of  the  fervor  of  an  imagination  exceedingly  high- 
wrought  and  enthusiastic.  His  own  gorgeous  vanity  intoxi- 
cated him  :  and,  if  it  be  an  historical  truth  that  the  kings  of 
the  ancient  world,  blinded  by  their  own  power,  had  moments 
in  which  they  believed  themselves  more  than  men,  it  is  not 
incredible  that  sages,  elevated  even  above  kings,  should  con- 
ceive a  frenzy  as  weak,  or,  it  may  be,  as  sublime  ;  and  imagine 
that  they  did  not  claim,  in  vain,  the  awful  dignity  with  which 
the  faith  of  the  multitude  invested  their  faculties  and  gifts. 

But,  though  the  accident  of  birth,  which  excluded  him  from 
all  field  for  energy  and  ambition,  had  thus  directed  the  power- 
ful mind  of  Almamen  to  contemplation  and  study,  nature  had 
never  intended  passions  so  fierce  for  the  calm,  though  visionary, 
pursuits  to  which  he  was  addicted.  Amidst  scrolls  and  seers,  he 
had  pined  for  action  and  glory  ;  and,  baffled  in  all  wholesome 
egress  by  the  universal  exclusion  which,  in  every  land,  and 
from  every  faith,  met  the  religion  he  belonged  to,  the  faculties 
within  him  ran  riot,  producing  gigantic,  but  baseless,  schemes, 
which,  as  one  after  the  other  crumbled  away,  left  behind  feel- 
ings of  dark  misanthropy  and  intense  revenge. 

Perhaps,  had  his  religion  been  prosperous  and  powerful,  he 
might  have  been  a  sceptic ;  persecution  and  affliction  made 
him  a  fanatic.  Yet,  true  to  that  prominent  characteristic  of 
the  old  Hebrew  race,  which  made  them  look  to  a  Messiah  only 
as  a  warrior  and  a  prince,  and  which  taught  them  to  associate 
all  their  hopes  and  schemes  with  worldly  victories  and  power, 


a6  LEILA. 

Almamen  desired  rather  to  advance,  than  to  obey,  his  religion. 
He  cared  little  for  its  precepts,  he  thought  little  of  its  doc- 
trines ;  but,  night  and  day,  he  revolved  his  schemes  for  its 
earthly  restoration  and  triumph. 

At  that  time,  the  Moors  in  Spain  were  far  more  deadly  per- 
secutors of  the  Jews  than  the  Christians  were.  Amidst  the 
Spanish  cities  on  the  coast,  that  merchant  tribe  had  formed 
commercial  connections  with  the  Christians,  sufficiently  bene- 
ficial, both  to  individuals  as  to  communities,  to  obtain  for 
them,  not  only  toleration,  but  something  of  personal  friendship, 
wherever  men  bought  and  sold  in  the  marketplace.  And  the 
gloomy  fanaticism  which  afterwards  stained  the  fame  of  the 
great  Ferdinand,  and  introduced  the  horrors  of  the  Inquisition, 
had  not  yet  made  itself  more  than  fitfully  visible.  But  the 
Moors  had  treated  this  unhappy  people  with  a  wholesale  and 
relentless  barbarity.  At  Granada,  under  the  reign  of  the  fierce 
father  of  Boabdil,  "  that  king  with  the  tiger  heart,"  the  Jews 
had  been  literally  placed  without  the  pale  of  humanity  ;  and 
even  under  the  mild  and  contemplative  Boabdil  himself,  they 
had  been  plundered  without  mercy,  and,  if  suspected  of  secret- 
ing their  treasures,  massacred  without  scruple ;  the  wants  of 
the  state  continued  their  unrelenting  accusers — their  wealth, 
their  inexpiable  crime. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  these  barbarities  that  Almamen,  for 
the  first  time  since  the  day  when  the  death-shriek  of  his  ago- 
nized father  rang  in  his  ears,  suddenly  returned  to  Granada. 
He  saw  the  unmitigated  miseries  of  his  brethren,  and  he  remem- 
bered and  repeated  his  vow.  His  name  changed,  his  kindred 
dead,  none  remembered,  in  the  mature  Almamen,  the  beardless 
child  of  Issachar,  the  Jew.  He  had  long,  indeed,  deemed  it 
advisable  to  disguise  his  faith  ;  and  was  known  throughout  the 
African  kingdoms,  but  as  the  potent  santon,  or  the  wise  ma- 
gician. 

This  fame  soon  lifted  him  in  Granada  high  in  the  councils 
of  the  court.  Admitted  to  the  intimacy  of  Muley  Hassan, 
with  Boabdil,  and  the  Queen  Mother,  he  had  conspired  against 
that  monarch  ;  and  had  lived,  at  least,  to  avenge  his  father 
upon  the  royal  murderer.  He  was  no  less  intimate  with  Boab- 
dil ;  but,  steeled  against  fellowship  or  affection  for  all  men  out 
of  the  pale  of  his  faith,  he  saw,  in  the  confidence  of  the  King, 
only  the  blindness  of  a  victim. 

Serpent  as  he  was,  he  cared  not  through  what  mire  of  treach- 
ery and  fraud  he  trailed  his  baleful  folds,  so  that,  at  last,  he 
could  spring  upon  his  prey.     Nature  had  given  him  sagacity 


LELIA.  27 

and  strength.  The  curse  of  circumstance  had  humbled,  but 
reconciled  him  to  the  dust.  He  had  the  crawl  of  the  reptile ; 
he  had,  also,  its  poison  and  its  fangs. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    LION    IN    THE   NET. 

It  was  the  next  night,  not  long  before  daybreak,  that  the 
King  of  Granada  abruptly  summoned  to  his  council  Jusef,  hi» 
Vizier.  The  old  man  found  Boabdil  in  great  disorder  and 
excitement  ;  but  he  almost  deemed  his  sovereign  mad,  whei» 
he  received  from  him  the  ordpr  to  seize  upon  the  person  o' 
Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan,  and  to  lodge  him  in  the  strongest  dungeor 
of  the  Vermilion  Tower.  Presuming  upon  Boabdil's  natura' 
mildness,  the  Vizier  ventured  to  remonstrate  ;  to  suggest  the 
danger  of  laying  violent  hands  upon  a  chief  so  beloved,  and  to 
inquire  what  cause  should  be  assigned  for  the  outrage. 

The  veins  swelled  like  cords  upon  Boabdil's  brow,  as  he 
listened  to  the  Vizier  ;  and  his  answer  was  short  and  peremp- 
tory. 

"  Am  I  yet  a  King,  that  I  should  fear  a  subject,  or  excuse 
my  will  ?  Thou  hast  my  orders  ;  there  are  my  signet  and  the 
firman  :  obedience,  or  the  bow-string  !  " 

Never  before  had  Boabdil  so  resembled  his  dread  father  in 
speech  and  air  ;  the  Vizier  trembled  to  the  soles  of  his  feet, 
and  withdrew  in  silence.  Boabdil  watched  him  depart  ;  and 
then,  clasping  his  hands  in  great  emotion,  exclaimed  :  "  O  lips 
of  the  dead  !  ye  have  warned  me  ;  and  to  you  I  sacrifice  the 
friend  of  my  youth." 

On  quitting  Boabdil,  the  Vizier,  taking  with  him  some  of 
those  foreign  slaves  of  a  seraglio,  who  know  no  sympathy  with 
human  passion  outside  its  walls,  bent  his  way  to  the  palace  of 
Muza,  sorely  puzzled  and  perplexed.  He  did  not,  however, 
like  to  venture  upon  the  hazard  of  the  alarm  it  might  occa- 
sion throughout  the  neighborhood,  if  he  endeavored  at  so  un- 
seasonable an  hour,  to  force  an  entrance.  He  resolved,  rather, 
with  his  train,  to  wait  at  a  little  distance,  till,  with  the  growing 
dawn,  the  gates  should  be  unclosed,  and  the  inmates  of  the 
palace  astir. 

Accordingly,  cursing  his  stars,  and  wondering  at  his  mission, 
Jusef  and  his  silent  and  ominous  attendants  concealed  them- 
selves in  a  small  copse  adjoining  the  palace,  until  the  daylight 


28  LEILA. 

fairly  broke  over  the  awakened  city.  He  then  passed  into  the 
palace  ;  and  was  conducted  to  a  hall,  where  he  found  the  re- 
nowned Moslem  already  astir,  and  conferring  with  some  Zegri 
captains  upon  the  tactics  of  a  sortie  designed  for  that  day. 

It  was  with  so  evident  a  reluctance  and  apprehension  that 
Jusef  approached  the  Prince,  that  the  fierce  and  quick-sighted 
Zegris  instantly  suspected  some  evil  intention  in  his  visit  ;  and, 
when  Muza,  in  surprise,  yielded  to  the  prayer  of  the  Vizier  for 
a  private  audience,  it  was  with  scowling  brows  and  sparkling 
eyes  that  the  Moorish  warriors  left  the  darling  of  the  nobles 
alone  with  the  messenger  of  their  King. 

"  By  the  tomb  of  the  Prophet  ! "  said  one  of  the  Zegris,  as 
he  quitted  the  hall,  "  the  timid  Boabdil  suspects  our  Ben  Abil 
Gazan.     I  learned  of  this  before." 

"  Hush  !  "  said  another  of  the  band  ;  **  let  us  watch.  If  the 
King  touch  a  hair  of  Muza's  head,  Allah  have  mercy  on  his 
sins  !  " 

Meanwhile,  the  Vizier,  in  silence,  showed  to  Muza  the  firman 
and  the  signet  ;  and  then,  without  venturing  to  announce  the 
place  to  which  he  was  commissioned  to  conduct  the  Prince, 
besought  him  to  follow  at  once.  Muza  changed  color,  but  not 
with  fear. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  deep  sorrow,  "  can  it  be  that 
I  have  fallen  under  my  royal  kinsman's  suspicion  or  dis- 
pleasure ?  But  no  matter  ;  proud  to  set  to  Granada  an  example 
of  valor  in  her  defence,  be  it  mine  to  set,  also,  an  example  of 
obedience  to  her  King.  Go  on — I  will  follow  thee.  Yet  stay, 
you  will  have  no  need  of  guards  ;  let  us  depart  by  a  private 
egress  :  the  Zegris  might  misgive,  did  they  see  me  leave  the 
palace  with  you  at  the  very  time  the  army  are  assembling  in 
the  Vivarrambla,  and  awaiting  my  presence.     This  way." 

Thus  saying,  Muza,  who,  fierce  as  he  was,  obeyed  every 
impulse  that  the  oriental  loyalty  dictated  from  a  subject  to  a 
king,  passed  from  the  hall  to  a  small  door  that  admitted  into 
the  garden,  and  in  thoughtful  silence  accompanied  the  Vizier 
towards  the  Alhambra.  As  they  passed  the  copse  in  which 
Muza,  two  nights  before,  had  met  with  Almamen,  the  Moor, 
lifting  his  head  suddenly,  beheld  fixed  upon  him  the  dark  eyes 
of  the  magician,  as  he  emerged  from  the  trees.  Muza  thought 
there  was  in  those  eyes  a  malign  and  hostile  exultation  ;  but 
Almamen,  gravely  saluting  him,  passed  on  through  the  grove ; 
the  Prince  did  not  deign  to  look  back,  or  he  might  once  more 
Jiave  encountered  that  withering  gaze. 

"  Proud  heathen  !  "  muttered   Almamen  to  himself,  "  thy 


iKtLA.  i^ 

father  filled  his  treasuries  from  the  gold  of  many  a  tortured 
Hebrew  ;  and  even  thou,  too  haughty  to  be  the  miser,  hast 
been  savage  enough  to  play  the  bigot.  Thy  name  is  a  curse 
in  Israel ;  yet  dost  thou  lust  after  the  daughter  of  our  de- 
spised race,  and,  could  defeated  passion  sting  thee,  I  were 
avenged.  Ay,  sweep  on,  with  thy  stately  step  and  lofty  crest — 
thou  goest  to  chains,  perhaps  to  death." 

As  Almamen  thus  vented  his  bitter  spirit,  the  last  gleam  of 
the  white  robes  of  Muza  vanished  from  his  gaze.  He  paused 
a  moment,  turned  away  abruptly,  and  said,  half  aloud  :  **  Ven- 
geance, not  on  one  man  only,  but  a  whole  race  !  Now  for  the 
Nazarene." 


BOOK   II. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   ROYAL     TENT    OF    SPAIN. — THE    itiNG   AND    THE    DOMINI- 
CAN.  THE    VISITOR    AND   THE    HOSTAGE. 

Our  narrative  now  summons  us  to  the  Christian  army,  and 
to  the  tent  in  which  the  Spanish  King  held  nocturnal  counsel 
with  some  of  his  more  confidential  warriors  and  advisers. 
Ferdinand  had  taken  the  field  with  all  the  pomp  and  circum- 
stance of  a  tournament  rather  than  of  a  campaign  ;  and  his 
pavilion  literally  blazed  with  purple  and  cloth  of  gold. 

The  King  sate  at  the  head  of  a  table  on  which  were  scat- 
tered maps  and  papers  ;  nor  in  countenance  and  mien  did  that 
great  and  politic  monarch  seem  unworthy  of  the  brilliant  chiv- 
alry by  whom  he  was  surrounded.  His  black  hair,  richly  per- 
fumed and  anointed,  fell  in  long  locks  on  either  side  of  a  high, 
imperial  brow,  upon  whose  calm,  though  not  unfurrowed  sur- 
face the  physiognomist  would  in  vain  have  sought  to  read  the 
inscrutable  heart  of  kings.  His  features  were  regular  and 
majestic  ;  and  his  mantle,  clasped  with  a  single  jewel  of  rare 
price  and  lustre,  and  wrought  at  the  breast  with  a  silver  cross, 
waved  over  a  vigorous  and  manly  frame,  which  derived  from 
the  composed  and  tranquil  dignity  of  habitual  command  that 
imposing  effect  which  many  of  the  renowned  knights  and  heroes 
in  his  presence  took  from  loftier  stature  and  ampler  propor- 
tions.    At  his  right  hand  sat  Prince  Juan,  his  son,  in  the  first 


30  Leila. 

bloom  of  youth  ;  at  his  left,  the  celebrated  Rodrigo  Ponce  de 
Leon,  Marquess  of  Cadiz  ;  along  tl;e  table,  in  the  order  of  their 
military  rank,  were  seen  the  splendid  Dakeof  Medina  Sidonia, 
equally  noble  in  aspect  and  in  name  ;  the  worn  and  thoughtful 
countenance  of  the  Marquess  de  Villena  (the  Bayard  of  Spain); 
the  melancholy  brow  of  the  heroic  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  ;  and  the 
gigantic  frame,  the  animated  features,  and  sparkling  eyes,  of 
that  fiery  Hernando  del  Pulgar,  surnamed  "  the  Knight  of  the 
Exploits." 

"  You  see,  Senores,"  said  the  King,  continuing  an  address,  to 
which  his  chiefs  seemed  to  listen  with  reverential  attention, 
"  our  best  hope  of  speedily  gaining  the  city  is  rather  in  the  dis- 
sensions of  the  Moors  than  our  own  sacred  arms.  The  walls 
are  strong,  the  population  still  numerous;  and  under  Muza 
Ben  Abil  Gazan,  the  tactics  of  the  hostile  army  are,  it  must  be 
owned,  administered  with  such  skill  as  to  threaten  very  for- 
midable delays  to  the  period  of  our  conquest.  Avoiding  the 
hazard  of  a  fixed  battle,  the  infidel  cavalry  harass  our  camp  by 
perpetual  skirmishes  ;  and  in  the  mountain  defiles  our  detach- 
ments cannot  cope  with  their  light  horse  and  treacherous 
ambuscades.  It  is  true,  that  by  dint  of  time,  by  the  complete 
devastation  of  the  Vega,  and  by  vigilant  prevention  of  convoys 
from  the  sea-towns,  we  might  starve  the  city  into  yielding. 
But,  alas  !  my  lords,  our  enemies  are  scattered  and  numerous, 
and  Granada  is  not  the  only  place  before  which  the  standard 
of  Spain  should  be  unfurled.  Thus  situated,  the  lion  does  not 
disdain  to  serve  himself  of  the  fox  ;  and  fortunately,  we  have 
now  in  Granada  an  ally  that  fights  for  us.  I  have  actual 
knowledge  of  all  that  passes  within  the  Alhambra  :  the  King 
yet  remains  in  his  palace  irresolute  and  dreaming ;  and  I  trust 
that  an  intrigue,  by  which  his  jealousies  are  aroused  against 
his  general,  Muza,  may  end  either  in  the  loss  of  that  able  leader, 
or  in  the  commotion  of  open  rebellion  or  civil  war.  Treason 
within  Granada  will  open  its  gates  to  us." 

"  Sire,"  said  Ponce  de  Leon,  after  a  pause,  "  under  your 
counsels,  I  no  more  doubt  of  seeing  our  banner  float  above  the 
Vermilion  Towers,  than  I  doubt  the  rising  of  the  sun  over 
yonder  hills  ;  it  matters  little  whether  we  win  by  stratagem  or 
force.  But  I  need  not  say  to  Your  Highness,  that  we  should 
carefully  beware,  lest  we  be  amused  by  inventions  of  the 
enemy,  and  trust  to  conspiracies  which  may  be  but  lying  tales 
to  blunt  our  sabres  and  paralyze  our  action." 

"  Bravely  spoken,  wise  de  Leon  !  "  exclaimed  Hernando  del 
Pulgar  hotly  :  "  and  against  these  infidels,  aided  by  the  cun- 


tfilLA.  31 

ning  of  the  Evil  One,  methinks  our  best  wisdom  lies  in  the 
sword-arm.     Well  says  our  old  Castilian  proverb  : 

'  Curse  them  devoutly, 
Hammer  them  stoutly.* " 

The  King  smiled  slightly  at  the  ardor  of  the  favorite  of  his 
army,  but  looked  round  for  more  deliberate  counsel. 

"  Sire,"  said  Villena,  "  far  be  it  from  us  to  inquire  the 
grounds  upon  which  your  Majesty  builds  your  hope  of  dis- 
sension among  the  foe  ;  but,  placing  the  most  sanguine  con- 
fidence in  a  wisdom  never  to  be  deceived,  it  is  clear  that  we 
should  relax  no  energy  within  our  means,  but  fight  while  we 
plot,  and  seek  to  conquer,  while  we  do  not  neglect  to  under- 
mine." 

"  You  speak  well,  my  lord,"  said  Ferdinand  thoughtfully  ; 
"  and  you  yourself  shall  head  a  strong  detachment  to-morrow, 
to  lay  waste  the  Vega.  Seek  me  two  hours  hence  ;  the  council 
for  the  present  is  dissolved." 

The  knights  rose,  and  withdrew  with  the  usual  grave  and 
stately  ceremonies  of  respect  which  Ferdinand  observed  to, 
and  exacted  from,  his  court  :  the  young  Prince  remained. 

"  Son,"  said  Ferdinand  when  they  were  alone,  "  early  and 
betimes  should  the  Infants  of  Spain  be  lessoned  in  the  science 
of  kingcraft.  These  nobles  are  among  the  brightest  jewels  of 
the  crown  ;  but  still  it  is  in  the  crown,  and  for  the  crown,  that 
their  light  should  sparkle.  Thou  seest  how  hot,  and  fierce, 
and  warlike,  are  the  chiefs  of  Spain — excellent  virtues  when 
manifested  against  our  foes :  but  had  we  no  foes,  Juan,  such 
virtues  might  cause  us  exceeding  trouble.  By  St.  jago,  I  have 
founded  a  mighty  monarchy  !  observe  how  it  should  be  main- 
tained— by  science,  Juan,  by  science  !  And  science  is  as  far 
removed  from  brute  force  as  this  sword  from  a  crowbar.  Thou 
seemest  bewildered  and  amazed,  my  son  :  thou  hast  heard 
that  I  seek  to  conquer  Granada  by  dissensions  among  the 
Moors  ;  when  Granada  is  conquered,  remember  that  the  nobles 
themselves  are  a  Granada.  Ave  Maria  !  blessed  be  the  Holy 
Mother,  under  whose  eyes  are  the  hearts  of  kings  !  " 

Ferdinand  crossed  himself  devoutly  ;  and, then,  rising,  drew 
aside  a  part  of  the  drapery  of  the  pavilion,  and  called,  in  a 
low  voice,  the  name  of  Perez.  A  grave  Spaniard,  somewhat 
past  the  verge  of  middle  age,  appeared. 

"Perez,"  said  the  King,  reseating  himself,  "has  the  person 
we  expected  from  Granada  yet  arrived  ? " 

"  Sire,  yes  ;  accompanied  by  a  maiden." 


3*  LEILA. 

"  He  hath  kept  his  word  ;  admit  them.  Ha,  holy  father, 
thy  visits  are  always  as  balsam  to  the  heart." 

*'  Save  you,  my  son  !  "  returned  a  man  in  the  robes  of  a 
Dominican  friar,  who  had  entered  suddenly  and  without  cere- 
mony by  another  part  of  the  tent,  and  who  now  seated 
himself  with  smileless  composure  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
King. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  for  some  moments  ;  and  Perez 
still  lingered  within  the  tent,  as  if  in  doubt  whether  the 
entrance  of  the  friar  would  not  prevent  or  delay  obedience  to 
the  King's  command.  On  the  calm  face  of  Ferdinand  him- 
self appeared  a  slight  shade  of  discomposure  and  irresolution, 
when  the  monk  thus  resumed  : 

"  My  presence,  my  son,  will  not,  I  trust,  disturb  your  con- 
ference with  the  infidel — since  you  deem  that  worldly  policy 
demands  your  parley  with  the  men  of  Belial  ?  " 

"  Doubtless  not — doubtless  not,"  returned  the  King  quick- 
ly :  then,  muttering  to  himself,  "  How  wondrously  doth 
this  holy  man  penetrate  into  all  our  movements  and  designs  !  " 
he  added,  aloud  :  "  Let  the  messenger  enter." 

Perez  bowed,  and  withdrew. 

During  this  time,  the  young  Prince  reclined  in  listless 
silence  on  his  seat ;  and  on  his  delicate  features  was  an  ex- 
pression of  weariness  which  augured  but  ill  of  his  fitness  for 
the  stern  business  to  which  the  lessons  of  his  wise  father  were 
intended  to  educate  his  mind.  His,  indeed,  was  the  age,  and 
his  the  soul,  for  pleasure  ;  the  tumult  of  the  camp  was  to  him 
but  a  holiday  exhibition  ;  the  march  of  an  army,  the  exhilara- 
tion of  a  spectacle  ;  the  court  was  a  banquet  ;  the  throne,  the 
best  seat  at  the  entertainment.  The  life  of  the  heir-apparent, 
to  the  life  of  the  king-possessive,  is  as  the  distinction  between 
enchanting  hope  and  tiresome  satiety. 

The  small  gray  eyes  of  the  friar  wandered  over  each  of  his 
royal  companions  with  a  keen  and  penetrating  glance,  and 
then  settled  in  the  aspect  of  humility  on  the  rich  carpets  that 
bespread  the  floor  ;  nor  did  he  again  lift  them  till  Perez,  re- 
appearing, admitted  to  the  tent  the  Israelite,  Almamen, 
accompanied  by  a  female  figure;  whose  long  veil,  extending 
from  head  to  foof,  could  conceal  neither  the  beautiful  propor- 
tions nor  the  trembling  agitation  of  her  frame. 

"  When  last,  great  King,  I  was  admitted  to  thy  presence," 
said  Almamen,  "  thou  didst  make  question  of  the  sincerity  and 
faith  of  thy  servant  ;  thou  didst  ask  me  for  a  surety  of  my 
faith  ;  thou  didst  demand  a  hostage  ;  and  didst  refuse  further 


LEILA.  3;J 

parley  without  such  pledge  were  yielded  to  thee.  Lo  !  I  place 
under  thy  kingly  care  this  maiden,  the  sole  child  of  my 
house,  as  surety  of  my  truth  ;  I  intrust  to  thee  a  life  dearer 
than  my  own." 

"  You  have  kept  faith  with  us,  stranger,"  said  the  King,  in 
that  soft  and  musical  voice  which  well  disguised  his  deep 
craft  and  his  unrelenting  will  ;  "  and  the  maiden  whom  you 
entrust  to  our  charge  shall  be  ranked  with  the  ladies  of  our 
royal  consort." 

"  Sire,"  replied  Almamen,  with  touching  earnestness,  "  you 
now  hold  the  power  of  life  and  death  over  all  for  whom  this 
heart  can  breathe  a  prayer  or  cherish  a  hope,  save  for  my 
countrymen  and  my  religion.  This  solemn  pledge  between 
thee  and  me  I  render  up  without  scruple,  without  fear.  To 
thee  I  give  a  hostage,  y>-^»«  thee  I  have  but  a  promise." 

"  But  it  is  the  promise  of  a  king,  a  Christian,  and  a  knight," 
said  the  King,  with  dignity  rather  mild  than  arrogant  ; 
"  among  monarchs,  what  hostage  can  be  more  sacred .?  Let 
this  pass  ;  how  proceed  affairs  in  the  rebel  city  ? " 

"  May  this  maiden  withdraw,  ere  I  answer  my  lord  the  King  ? " 
said  Almamen. 

The  young  Prince  started  to  his  feet.  "  Shall  I  conduct 
this  new  charge  to  my  mother  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice,  ad- 
dressing Ferdinand. 

The  King  half  smiled  :  "  The  holy  father  were  a  better 
guide,"  he  returned,  in  the  same  tone.  But,  though  the  Do- 
minican heard  the  hint,  he  retained  his  motionless  posture  ;  and 
Ferdinand,  after  a  momentary  gaze  on  the  friar,  turned  away. 
"  Be  it  so,  Juan,"  said  he,  with  a  look  meant  to  convey  caution 
to  the  Prince  ;  "  Perez  shall  accompany  you  to  the  Queen  : 
return  the  moment  your  mission  is  fulfilled — we  want  your 
presence." 

While  this  conversation  was  carried  on  between  the  father 
and  son,  the  Hebrew  was  whispering,  in  his  sacred  tongue, 
words  of  comfort  and  remonstrance  to  the  maiden  ;  but  they 
appeared  to  have  but  little  of  the  desired  effect  ;  and,  suddenly 
falling  on  his  breast,  she  wound  her  arms  around  the  Hebrew, 
whose  breast  shook  with  strong  emotions,  and  exclaimed  pas- 
sionately, in  the  same  language  :  "  Oh,  my  father  !  what  have 
I  done  ?  Why  send  me  from  thee?  Why  intrust  thy  child  to 
the  stranger  !     Spare  me,  spare  me  !  " 

"  Child  of  my  heart  !  "  returned  the  Hebrew,  with  solemn 
but  tender  accents,  "  even  as  Abraham  offered  up  his  son, 
must  I  offer   thee,   upon    the   altars   of  our   faith ;  but,   oh, 


34  LEILA, 

Leila  !  even  as  the  angel  of  the  Lord  forbade  the  offering,  so 
shall  thy  youth  be  spared,  and  thy  years  reserved  for  the 
glory  of  generations  yet  unborn.  King  of  Spain  !  "  he  con- 
tinued in  the  Spanish  tongue,  suddenly  and  eagerly,  "  you  are 
a  father;  forgive  my  weakness,  and  speed  this  parting." 

Juan  approached  ;  and  with  respectful  courtesy  attempted 
to  take  the  hand  of  the  maiden. 

"  You  ?  "  said  the  Israelite,  with  a  dark  frown.  "  O  King  ! 
the  Prince  is  young." 

"  Honor  knoweth  no  distinction  of  age,"  answered  the  King. 
"What  ho,  Perez  !  accompany  this  maiden  and  the  Prince  to 
the  Queen's  pavilion." 

The  sight  of  the  sober  years  and  grave  countenance  of  the 
attendant  seemed  to  reassure  the  Hebrew.  He  strained  Leila 
in  his  arms  ;  printed  a  kiss  upon  her  forehead  without  re- 
moving her  veil ;  and  then,  placing  her  almost  in  the  arms  of 
Perez,  turned  away  to  the  further  end  of  the  tent,  and  con- 
cealed his  face  with  his  hands.  The  King  appeared  touched  ; 
but  the  Dominican  gazed  upon  the  whole  scene  with  a  sour  scowl. 

Leila  still  paused  for  a  moment :  and  then,  as  if  recovering  her 
self-possession,  said,  aloud  and  distinctly  :  "  Man  deserts  me  ; 
but  I  will  not  forget  that  God  is  over  all."  Shaking  off  the 
hand  of  the  Spaniard,  she  continued  :  "  Lead  on  ;  I  follow 
thee  !  "  and  left  the  tent  with  a  steady  and  even  majestic  step. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  King,  when  alone  with  the  Dominican 
and  Almamen,  "  how  proceed  our  hopes  ? " 

"  Boabdil,"  replied  the  Israelite,  "is  aroused  against  both  his 
army  and  their  leader,  Muza  ;  the  King  will  not  quit  the  Al- 
hambra,  and  this  morning,  ere  I  left  the  city,  Muza  himself 
was  in  the  prisons  of  the  palace." 

"  How  !  "  cried  the  King,  starting  from  his  seat. 

"  This  is  my  work,"  pursued  the  Hebrew  coldly.  "  It  is 
these  hands  that  are  shaping  for  Ferdinand  of  Spain  the  keys 
of  Granada." 

"  And  right  kingly  shall  be  your  guerdon,"  said  the  Spanish 
monarch  :  "meanwhile  accept  this  earnest  of  our  favor," 

So  saying,  he  took  from  his  breast  a  chain  of  massive  gold, 
the  links  of  which  were  curiously  inwrought  with  gems,  and 
extended  it  to  the  Israelite.  Almamen  moved  not,  A  dark 
flush  upon  his  countenance  bespoke  the  feelings  he  with  diffi- 
culty restrained. 

"  I  sell  not  my  foes  for  gold,  great  King,"  said  he,  with  a 
stern  smile  :  "  I  sell  my  foes  to  buy  the  ransom  of  my 
friends." 


LEILA. 


35 


"Churlish!"  said  Ferdinand,  offended:  "but  speak  on, 
man  !  speak  on  !  " 

*'  If  1  place  Granada,  ere  two  weeks  are  past,  within  thy 
power,  what  shall  be  my  reward  ? " 

"  Thou  didst  talk  to  me,  when  last  we  met,  of  immunities  to 
the  Jews." 

The  calm  Dominican  looked  up  as  the  King  spoke,  crossed 
himself,  and  resumed  his  attitude  of  humility. 

"  I  demand  for  the  people  of  Israel,"  returned  Almamen, 
"  free  leave  to  trade  and  abide  within  the  city,  and  follow  their 
callings,  subjected  only  to  the  same  laws  and  the  same  imposts 
as  the  Christian  population." 

"The  same  laws,  and  the  same  imposts  !  Humph  !  There 
are  difficulties  in  the  concession.     If  we  refuse  ?" 

"  Our  treaty  is  ended.  Give  me  back  the  maiden — you  will 
have  no  further  need  of  the  hostage  you  demanded  :  I  return 
to  the  city,  and  renew  our  interviews  no  more." 

Politic  and  cold-blooded  as  was  the  temperament  of  the 
great  Ferdinand,  he  had  yet  the  imperious  and  haughty  nature  of 
a  prosperous  and  long-descended  King ;  and  he  bit  his  lip  in 
deep  displeasure  at  the  tone  of  the  dictatorial  and  stately 
stranger. 

"Thou  usest  plain  language,  my  friend,"  said  he  ;  "my 
words  can  be  as  rudely  spoken.  Thou  art  in  my  power,  and 
canst  return  not,  save  at  my  permission." 

"  I  have  your  royal  word,  sire,  for  free  entrance  and  safe 
egress,"  answered  Almamen.  "Break  it,  and  Granada  is  with 
the  Moors  till  the  Darro  runs  red  with  the  blood  of  her  heroes, 
and  her  people  strew  the  vales  as  the  leaves  in  autumn." 

"Art  thou  then  thyself  of  the  Jewish  faith?"  asked  the 
King.  "  If  thou  art  not,  wherefore  are  the  outcasts  of  the 
world  so  dear  to  thee  ? " 

"  My  fathers  were  of  that  creed,  royal  Ferdinand  ;  and  if  I 
myself  desert  their  creed,  I  do  not  desert  their  cause.  O  King  ! 
are  my  terms  scorned  or  accepted  ?" 

"  I  accept  them  :  provided,  first,  that  thou  obtainest  the  exile 
or  death  of  Muza  ;  secondly,  that  within  two  weeks  of  this 
date  thou  bringest  me,  along  with  the  chief  counsellors  of 
Granada,  the  written  treaty  of  the  capitulation,  and  the  keys 
of  the  city.  Do  this  :  and,  though  the  sole  King  in  Christen- 
dom who  dares  the  hazard,  I  offer  to  the  Israelites  throughout 
Andalusia  the  common  laws  and  rights  of  citizens  of  Spain  ; 
and  to  thee  I  will  accord  such  dignity  as  may  content  thy 
ambition." 


36  LEILA. 

The  Hebrew  bowed  reverently,  and  drew  from  his  breast  a 
scroll,  which  he  placed  on  the  table  before  the  King. 

**  This  writing,  mighty  Ferdinand,  contains  the  articles  of 
our  compact." 

"How,  knave  !  wouldst  thou  have  us  commit  our  royal  sig- 
nature to  conditions  with  such  as  thou  art,  to  the  chance  of  the 
public  eye.     The  King's  word  is  the  King's  bond  !  " 

The  Hebrew  took  up  the  scroll  with  imperturbable  compos- 
ure. '*  My  child  !  "  said  he — "  Will  your  majesty  summon  back 
my  child  ?     We  would  depart." 

"A  sturdy  mendicant  this,  by  the  Virgin!"  muttered  the 
King  ;  and  then,  speaking  aloud,  "  Give  me  the  paper,  I  will 
scan  it." 

Running  his  eyes  hastily  over  the  words,  Ferdinand  paused 
a  moment,  and  then  drew  towards  him  the  implements  of 
writing,  signed  the  scroll,  and  returned  it  to  Almamen. 

The  Israelite  kissed  it  thrice  with  oriental  veneration,  and 
replaced  it  in  his  breast. 

Ferdinand  looked  at  him  hard  and  curiously.  He  was  a  pro- 
found reader  of  men's  characters  ;  but  that  of  his  guest  baffled 
and  perplexed  him. 

"And  how,  stranger,"  said  he  gravely — "how  can  I  trust 
that  man  who  thus  distrusts  one  king  and  sells  another  ?  " 

"  O  King  !  "  replied  Almamen  (accustomed  from  his  youth 
to  commune  with  and  command  the  possessors  of  thrones  yet 
more  absolute), — "  O  King  !  if  thou  believest  me  actuated  by 
personal  and  selfish  interests  in  this  our  compact,  thou  hast  but 
to  make  my  service  minister  to  my  interest,  and  the  lore  of  hu- 
man nature  will  tell  thee  that  thou  hast  won  a  ready  and  sub- 
missive slave.  But  if  thou  thinkest  I  have  avowed  sentiments 
less  abject,  and  developed  qualities  higher  than  those  of  the 
mere  bargainer  for  sordid  power,  oughtest  thou  not  to  rejoice 
that  chance  has  thrown  into  thy  way  one  whose  intellect  and 
faculties  may  be  made  thy  tool  ?  If  I  betray  another,  that 
other  is  my  deadly  foe.  Dost  not  thou,  the  lord  of  armies,  be- 
tray thine  enemy?  The  Moor  is  an  enemy  bitterer  to  myself 
than  to  thee.  Because  I  betray  an  enemy,  am  I  unworthy  to 
serve  a  friend  ?  If  I,  a  single  man,  and  a  stranger  to  the  Moor, 
can  yet  command  the  secrets  of  palaces,  and  render  vain 
the  counsels  of  armed  men,  have  I  not  in  that  attested  that 
I  am  one  of  whom  a  wise  king  can  make  an  able  servant  ?  " 

"  Thou  art  a  subtle  reasoner,  my  friend,"  said  Ferdinand, 
smiling  gently.  "  Peace  go  with  thee !  Our  conference  for 
the  time  is  ended.     What  ho,  Perez  ! " 


LEILA  37 

The  attendant  appeared. 

"  Thou  hast  left  the  maiden  with  the  Queen?" 

"  Sire,  you  have  been  obeyed." 

"Conduct  this  stranger  to  the  guard  who  led  him  through 
the  camp.  He  quits  us  under  the  same  protection.  Farewell ! 
Yet  stay — thou  art  assured  that  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan  is  in  the 
prisons  of  the  Moor?" 

"  Yes." 

**  Blessed  be  the  Virgin  !  " 

"  Thou  hast  heard  our  conference,  Father  Tomas  ? "  said  the 
King  anxiously,  when  the  Hebrew  had  withdrawn. 

"  I  have,  son." 

"  Did  thy  veins  freeze  with  horror  ?" 

"  Only  when  my  son  signed  the  scroll.  It  seemed  to  me 
then  that  I  saw  the  cloven  foot  of  the  tempter." 

"  Tush,  father  !  the  tempter  would  have  been  more  wise  than 
to  reckon  upon  a  faith  which  no  ink  and  no  parchment  can 
render  valid,  if  the  Church  absolve  the  compact.  Thou  un- 
derstandest  me,  father?" 

"  I  do.     I  know  your  pious  heart  and  well-judging  mind." 

"Thou  wert  right,"  resumed  the  King  musingly,  "when 
thou  didst  tell  us  that  these  caitiff  Jews  were  waxing  strong  in 
the  fatness  of  their  substance.  They  would  have  equal  laws — 
the  insolent  blasphemers  !  " 

"  Son  !  "  said  the  Dominican,  with  earnest  adjuration,  "  God, 
who  has  prospered  your  arms  and  councils,  will  require  at  your 
hands  an  account  of  the  power  entrusted  to  you.  Shall  there 
be  no  difference  between  His  friends  and  His  foes — His  dis- 
ciples and  His  crucifiers  ?  " 

"  Priest,"  said  the  King,  laying  his  hand  on  the  monk's  shoul- 
der, and  with  a  saturnine  smile  upon  his  countenance,  "were 
religion  silent  in.  this  matter,  policy  has  a  voice  loud  enough 
to  make  itself  heard.  The  Jews  demand  equal  rights  ;  when 
men  demand  equality  with  their  masters,  treason  is  at  work, 
and  justice  sharpens  her  sword.  Equality!  these  wealthy 
usurers  !  Sacred  Virgin  !  they  would  be  soon  buying  up  our 
kingdoms." 

The  Dominican  gazed  hard  on  the  King.  "Son,  I  trust 
thee."  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  glided  from  the  tent. 


38  LEILA. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   AMBUSH,  THE   STRIFE,  AND    THE   CAPTURE. 

The  dawn  was  slowly  breaking  over  the  wide  valley  of 
Granada,  as  Almamen  pursued  his  circuitous  and  solitary  path 
back  to  the  city.  He  was  now  in  a  dark  and  entangled  hollow, 
covered  with  brakes  and  bushe.-,  from  amidst  which  tall  for- 
est trees  rose  in  frequent  intervals,  gloomy  and  breathless  in 
the  still  morning  air.  As,  emerging  from  this  jungle,  if  so  it 
may  be  called,  the  towers  of  Granada  gleamed  upon  him,  a 
human  countenance  peered  from  the  shade ;  and  Almamen 
started  to  see  two  dark  eyes  fixed  upon  his  own. 

He  halted  abruptly,  and  put  his  hand  on  his  dagger,  when  a 
low,  sharp  whistle  from  the  apparition  before  him  was  answered 
around,  behind ;  and,  ere  he  could  draw  breath,  the  Israelite 
was  begirt  by  a  group  of  Moors,  in  the  garb  of  peasants. 

"  Well,  my  masters,"  said  Almamen  calmly,  as  he  encountered 
the  wild,  savage  countenances  that  glared  upon  him,  "  think  you 
there  is  aught  to  fear  from  the  solitary  santon  ? " 

"  It  is  the  magician,"  whispered  one  man  to  his  neighbor — 
"let  him  pass." 

"  Nay,"  was  the  answer,  "  take  him  before  the  captain  ;  we 
have  orders  to  seize  upon  all  we  meet." 

This  counsel  prevailed ;  and  gnashing  his  teeth  with  secret 
rage,  Almamen  found  himself  hurried  along  by  the  peasants 
through  the  thickest  part  of  the  copse.  At  length,  the  proces- 
sion stopped  in  a  semicircular  patch  of  rank  sward,  in  which 
several  head  of  cattle  were  quietly  grazing,  and  a  yet  more 
numerous  troop  of  peasants  reclined  around  upon  the  grass. 

"Whom  have  we  here?"  asked  a  voice  which  startled  back 
the  dark  blood  from  Almamen's  cheek ;  and  a  Moor  of  com- 
manding presence  rose  from  the  midst  of  his  brethren.  "  By 
the  beard  of  the  Prophet,  it  is  the  false  santon  !  What  dost 
thou  from  Granada  at  this  hour?" 

"Noble  Muza,"  returned  Almamen,  who,  though  indeed 
amazed  that  one  whom  he  had  imagined  his  victim  was  thus 
unaccountably  become  his  judge,  retained,  at  least,  the  sem- 
blance of  composure — "  my  answer  is  to  be  given  only  to  my 
lord  the  King  ;  it  is  his  commands  that  I  obey." 

"  Thou  art  aware,"  said  Muza,  frowning,  "  that  thy  life  is  for- 
feited without  appeal?  Whatsoever  inmate  of  Granada  is 
found  without  the  walls  between  sunrise  and  sunset,  dies  the 
death  of  a  traitor  and  deserter," 


LEILA.  39 

"  The  servants  of  the  Alhambra  are  excepted,"  answered  the 
Israelite,  without  changing  countenance. 

"Ah!"  muttered  Muza,  as  a  painful  and  sudden  thought 
seemed  to  cross  him,  "  can  it  be  possible  that  the  rumor  of  the 
city  has  truth,  and  that  the  monarch  of  Granada  is  in  treaty 
with  the  foe  ?  "  He  mused  a  little  ;  and  then,  motioning  the 
Moors  to  withdraw,  he  continued  aloud  :  "  Almamen,  answer 
me  truly  :  hast  thou  sought  the  Christian  camp  with  any  mes- 
sage from  the  King?" 

"  I  have  not." 

*'  Art  thou  without  the  walls  on  the  mission  of  the  King  ?  " 

"  If  I  be  so,  I  am  a  traitor  to  the  King  should  I  reveal  his 
secret." 

"  I  doubt  thee  much,  santon,"  said  Muza,  after  a  pause  ;  "I 
know  thee  for  my  enemy,  and  I  do  believe  thy  counsels  have 
poisoned  the  King's  ear  against  me,  his  people  and  his  duties. 
But  no  matter,  thy  life  is  spared  awhile  ;  thou  remainest  with 
us,  and  with  us  shalt  thou  return  to  the  King." 

"But,  noble  Muza — " 

"  I  have  said !  Guard  the  santon  ;  mount  him  upon  one  of 
our  chargers  ;  he  shall  abide  with  us  in  our  ambush." 

While  Almamen  chafed  in  vain  at  his  arrest,  all  in  the  Chris- 
tian camp  was  yet  still.  At  length,  as  the  sun  began  to  lift 
himself  above  the  mountains,  first  a  murmur,  and  then  a  din, 
betokened  warlike  preparations.  Several  parties  of  horse,  under 
gallant  and  experienced  leaders,  formed  themselves  in  different 
quarters,  and  departed  in  different  ways,  on  expeditions  of 
forage,  or  in  the  hope  of  skirmish  with  the  straggling  detach- 
ments of  the  enemy.  Of  these,  the  best  equipped  was  con- 
ducted by  the  Marquess  de  Villena,  and  his  gallant  brother, 
Don  Alonzo  de  Pacheco.  In  this  troop,  too,  rode  many  of  the 
best  blood  of  Spain  ;  for  in  that  chivalric  army,  the  officers 
vied  with  each  other  who  should  most  eclipse  tlie  meaner  sol- 
diery in  feats  of  personal  valor  ;  and  the  name  of  Villena  drew 
around  him  the  eager  and  ardent  spirits  that  pined  at  the  gen- 
eral inactivity  of  Ferdinand's  politic  campaign. 

The  sun,  now  high  in  heaven,  glittered  on  the  splendid  arms 
and  gorgeous  pennons  of  Villena's  company,  as,  leaving  the 
camp  behind,  it  entered  a  rich  and  wooded  district  that  skirts 
the  mountain  barrier  of  the  Vega — the  brilliancy  of  the  day, 
the  beauty  of  the  scene,  the  hope  and  excitement  of  enterprise, 
animated  the  spirits  of  the  whole  party.  In  these  expeditions 
strict  discipline  was  often  abandoned,  from  the  certainty  that 
it  could   be  resumed   at  need.     Conversation,  gay  and  loud, 


40  LEILA. 

interspersed  at  times  with  snatches  of  song,  was  heard  amongst 
the  soldiery  :  and  in  the  nobler  group  that  rode  with  Villena, 
there  was  even  less  of  the  proverbial  gravity  of  Spaniards. 

"  Now,  Marquess,"  said  Don  Estevon  de  Suzon,  "  what  wager 
shall  be  between  us,  as  to  which  lance  this  day  robs  Moorish 
beauty  of  the  greatest  number  of  its  worshippers?" 

"  My  falchion  against  your  jennet,"  said  Don  Alonzo  de 
Pacheco,  taking  up  the  challenge. 

"  Agreed.  But,  talking  of  beauty,  were  you  in  the  Queen's 
pavilion  last  night,  noble  Marquess  ?  It  was  enriched  by  a  new 
maiden,  whose  strange  and  sudden  apparition  none  can  account 
for.  Her  eyes  would  have  eclipsed  the  fatal  glance  of  Cava ; 
and  had  I  been  Rodrigo,  I  might  have  lost  a  crown  for  her 
smile." 

"  Ay,"  said  Villena,  "  I  heard  of  her  beauty  ;  some  hostage 
from  one  of  the  traitor  Moors,  with  whom  the  King  (the  saints 
bless  him  !)  bargains  for  the  city.  They  tell  me  the  Prince 
incurred  the  Queen's  grave  rebuke  for  his  attentions  to  the 
maiden." 

"  And  this  morning  I  saw  that  fearful  Father  Tomas  steal  into 
the  Prince's  tent.  I  wish  Don  Juan  well  through  the  lecture. 
The  monk's  advice  is  like  the  algarroba  ;*  when  it  is  laid  up 
to  dry  it  may  be  reasonably  wholesome,  but  it  is  harsh  and  bit- 
ter enough  when  taken  fresh." 

At  this  moment  one  of  the  subaltern  officers  rode  up  to  the 
Marquess  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"  Ha  !  "  said  Villena,  "  the  Virgin  be  praised  !  Sir  Knights, 
booty  is  at  hand.     Silence  !  close  the  ranks." 

With  that,  mounting  a  little  eminence,  and  shading  his 
eyes  with  his  hand,  the  Marguess  surveyed  the  plain  below  ; 
and,  at  some  distance,  he  beheld  a  horde  of  Moorish  peasants 
driving  some  cattle  into  a  thick  copse.  The  word  was  hastily 
given,  the  troop  dashed  on,  every  voice  was  hushed,  and  the 
clatter  of  mail  and  the  sound  of  hoofs  alone  broke  the  deli- 
cious silence  of  the  noonday  landscape.  Ere  they  reached  the 
copse,  the  peasants  had  disappeared  within  it.  The  Marquess 
marshalled  his  men  in  a  semicircle  round  the  trees,  and  sent  on 
a  detachment  to  the  rear,  to  cut  off  every  egress  from  the 
wood.  This  done,  the  troop  dashed  within.  For  the  first  few- 
yards  the  space  was  more  open  than  they  had  anticipated  :  but 
the  ground  soon  grew  uneven,  rugged,  and  almost  precipitous; 
and  the  soil,  and  the  interlaced  trees,  alike  forbade  any  rapid 
motion  to  the  horse.     Don  Alonzo  de  Pacheco,  mounted  on  a 

*  The  algarroba  is  a  sort  of  legumfoious  plant,  common  in  Spain, 


LEILA  41 

charger  whose  agile  and  docile  limbs  had  been  tutored  to  every 
description  of  warfare,  and  himself  of  light  weight,  and  incom- 
parable horsemanship,  dashed  on  before  the  rest.  The  trees 
hid  him  for  a  moment ;  when  suddenly,  a  wild  yell  was  heard, 
and  as  it  ceased,  uprose  the  solitary  voice  of  the  Spaniard,  shout- 
ing, "  Santiago,  y  cierra  Espana;  St.  Jago,  and  charge,  Spain  !  " 

Each  cavalier  spurred  forward,  when,  suddenly,  a  shower  of 
darts  and  arrows  rattled  on  their  armor  ;  and  upsprung  from 
bush,  and  reeds,  and  rocky  clift,  a  number  of  Moors,  and  with 
wild  shouts  swarmed  around  the  Spaniards. 

"  Back  for  your  lives  !  "  cried  Villena,  "  we  are  beset — make 
for  the  level  ground  '  " 

He  turned,  spurred  from  the  thicket,  and  saw  the  Paynim 
foe  emerging  through  the  glen,  line  after  line  of  man  and  horse  ; 
each  Moor  leading  his  slight  and  fiery  steed  by  the  bridle,  and 
leaping  on  it  as  he  issued  from  the  wood  into  the  plain.  Cased 
in  complete  mail,  his  visor  down,  his  lance  in  his  rest,  Villena 
(accompanied  by  such  of  his  knights  as  could  disentangle  them- 
selves from  the  Moorish  foot)  charged  upon  the  foe.  A  mo- 
ment of  fierce  shock  passed  :  on  the  ground  lay  many  a  Moor, 
pierced  through  by  the  Christian  lance  ;  and  on  the  other  side 
of  the  foe  was  heard  the  voice  of  Villena  :  "  St.  Jago  to  the 
rescue!"  But  the  brave  Marquess  stood  almost  alone,  save 
his  faithful  chamberlain,  Solier.  Several  of  his  knights  were 
dismounted,  and  swarms  of  Moors  with  lifted  knives,  gathered 
round  them  as  they  lay,  searching  for  the  joints  of  the  armor 
which  might  admit  a  mortal  wound.  Gradually,  one  by  one, 
many  of  Villena's  comrades  joined  their  leader  ;  and  now  the 
green  mantle  of  Don  Alonzo  de  Pacheco  was  seen  waving 
without  the  copse,  and  Villena  congratulated  himself  on  the 
safety  of  his  brother.  Just  at  that  moment,  a  Moorish  cavalier 
spurred  from  his  troop,  and  met  Pacheco  in  full  career.  The 
Moor  was  not  clad,  as  was  the  common  custom  of  the  Paynim 
nobles,  in  the  heavy  Christian  armor.  He  wore  the  light  flexile 
mail  of  the  ancient  heroes  of  Araby  or  Fez.  His  turban, 
which  was  protected  by  chains  of  the  finest  steel  interwoven 
with  the  folds,  was  of  the  most  dazzling  white — white  also  were 
his  tunic  and  short  mantle  ;  on  his  left  arm  hung  a  short  circu- 
lar shield,  in  his  right  hand  was  poised  a  long  and  slender  lance. 
As  this  Moor,  mounted  on  a  charger  in  whose  raven  hue  not  a 
white  hair  could  be  detected,  dashed  forward  against  Pacheco, 
both  Christian  and  Moor  breathed  hard  and  remained  passive. 
Either  nation  felt  it  as  a  sacrilege  to  thwart  the  encounter  of 
champions  so  renowned. 


4*  LEILA. 

"  God  save  my  brave  brother  !  "  muttered  Villena  anxiously. 
**  Amen,"  said  those  around  him  ;  for  all  who  had  ever  wit- 
nessed the  wildest  valor  in  that  war  trembled  as  they  recog- 
nized the  dazzling  robe  and  coal-black  charger  of  Muza  Ben 
Abil  Gazan.  Nor  was  that  renowned  infidel  mated  with  an 
unworthy  foe.  "  Pride  of  the  tournament,  and  terror  of  the 
war,"  was  the  favorite  title  which  the  knights  and  ladies  of 
Castile  had  bestow  on  Don  Alonzo  de  Pacheco. 

When  the  Spaniard  saw  the  redoubted  Moor  approach,  he 
halted  abruptly  for  a  moment,  and  then,  wheeling  his  horse 
round,  took  a  wider  circuit,  to  give  additional  impetus  to  his 
charge.  The  Moor,  aware  of  his  purpose,  halted  also,  and 
awaited  the  moment  of  his  rush  ;  when  once  more  he  darted 
forward,  and  the  combatants  met  with  a  skill  which  called  forth 
a  cry  of  involuntary  applause  from  the  Christians  themselves. 
Muza  received  on  the  small  surface  of  his  shield  the  ponderous 
spear  of  Alonzo,  while  his  own  light  lance  struck  upon  the  hel- 
met of  the  Christian,  and  by  the  exactness  of  the  aim,  rather 
than  the  weight  of  the  blow,  made  Alonzo  reel  in  his  saddle. 

The  lances  were  thrown  aside — the  long,  broad  falchion  of 
the  Christian,  the  curved  Damascus  cimiter  of  the  Moor, 
gleamed  in  the  air.  They  reined  their  chargers  opposite  each 
other  in  grave  and  deliberate  silence. 

*'  Yield  thee.  Sir  Knight  !  "  at  length  cried  the  fierce  Moor, 
"  for  the  motto  on  my  cimiter  declares  that  if  thou  meetest  its 
stroke,  thy  days  are  numbered.  The  sword  of  the  believer  is 
the  Key  of  Heaven  and  Hell."  * 

"  False  Paynim,"  answered  Alonzo,  in  a  voice  that  rang 
hollow  through  his  helmet,  "  a  Christian  knight  is  the  equal  of 
a  Moorish  army  !  " 

Muza  made  no  reply,  but  left  the  rein  of  his  charger  on  his 
neck  ;  the  noble  animal  understood  the"  signal,  and  with  a 
short,  impatient  cry  rushed  forward  at  full  speed.  Alonzo 
met  the  charge  with  his  falchion  upraised,  and  his  whole  body 
covered  with  his  shield  :  the  Moor  bent — the  Spaniards  raised 
a  shout — Muza  seemed  stricken  from  his  horse.  But  the  blow 
of  the  heavy  falchion  had  not  touched  him  :  and,  seemingly 
without  an  effort,  the  curved  blade  of  his  own  cimiter,  gliding 
by  that  part  of  his  antagonist's  throat  where  the  helmet  joins 
the  cuirass,  passed  unresistingly  and  silently  through  the  joints  ; 
and  Alonzo  fell  at  once,  and  without  a  groan,  from  his  horse — 
his  armor,  to  all  appearance,  unpenetrated,  while  the  blood 
oozed  slow  and  gurgling  from  a  mortal  wound. 

*  Such,  says  Sale,  is  the  poetical  phrase  of  the  Mahometan  divine. 


LEILA.  43 

"  Allah  il  Allah  !  "  shouted  Muza,  as  he  joined  his  friends  ; 
"  Lelilies  !  Lelilies  !  "  echoed  the  Moors  ;  and  ere  the  Chris- 
tians recovered  their  dismay  they  were  engaged  hand  to  hand 
with  their  ferocious  and  swarming  foes.  It  was,  indeed, 
fearful  odds  ;  and  it  was  a  marvel  to  the  Spaniards  how  the 
Moors  had  been  enabled  to  harbor  and  conceal  their  numbers 
in  so  small  a  space.  Horse  and  foot  alike  beset  the  company 
of  Villena,  already  sadly  reduced  ;  and  while  the  infantry, 
with  desperate  and  savage  fierceness,  thrust  themselves  under 
the  very  bellies  of  the  chargers,  encountering  both  the  hoofs 
of  the  steed  and  the  deadly  lance  of  the  rider,  in  the  hope  of 
finding  a  vulnerable  place  for  the  sharp  Moorish  knife,  the 
horsemen,  avoiding  the  stern  grapple  of  the  Spanish  warriors, 
harassed  them  by  the  shaft  and  lance — now  advancing,  now  re- 
treating, and  performing,  with  incredible  rapidity,  the  evolu- 
tions of  Oriental  cavalry.  But  the  life  and  soul  of  his  party 
was  the  indomitable  Muza.  With  a  rashness  which  seemed  to 
the  superstitious  Spaniards  like  the  safety  of  a  man  protected 
by  magic,  he  spurred  his  ominous  black  barb  into  the  very 
midst  of  the  serried  phalanx  which  Villena  endeavored  to  form 
around  him,  breaking  the  order  by  his  single  charge,  and  from 
time  to  time  bringing  to  the  dust  some  champion  of  the  troop 
by  the  noiseless  and  scarce  seen  edge  of  his  fatal  cimiter. 

Villena,  in  despair  alike  of  fame  and  life,  and  gnawed  with 
grief  for  his  brother's  loss,  at  length  resolved  to  put  the  last 
hope  of  the  battle  on  his  single  arm.  He  gave  the  signal  for 
retreat ;  and  to  protect  his  troop,  remained  himself,  alone  and 
motionless,  on  his  horse,  like  a  statue  of  iron.  Though  not  of 
large  frame,  he  was  esteemed  the  best  swordsman,  next  only  to 
Hernando  del  Pulgar  and  Gonsalvo  de  Cordova,  in  the  army  ; 
practised  alike  in  the  heavy  assault  of  the  Christian  warfare, 
and  the  rapid  and  dexterous  exercise  of  the  Moorish  cavalry. 
There  he  remained,  alone  and  grim — a  Hon  at  bay — while  his 
troops  slowly  retreated  down  the  Vega,  and  their  trumpets 
sounded  loud  signals  of  distress,  and  demands  for  succor,  to 
such  of  their  companions  as  might  be  within  hearing.  Villena's 
armor  defied  the  shafts  of  the  Moors  ;  and  as  one  after  one 
darted  towards  him,  with  whirling  cimiter  and  momentary 
assault,  few  escaped  with  impunity  from  an  eye  equally  quick 
and  a  weapon  more  than  equally  formidable.  Suddenly,  a 
cloud  of  dust  swept  towards  him  ;  and  Muza,  a  moment  before 
at  the  further  end  of  the  field,  came  glittering  through  that 
cloud,  with  his  white  robe  waving  and  his  right  arm  bare. 
Villena  recognized  him,  set  his  teeth  hard,  and  putting  spurs  to 


44  LEILA. 

his  charger,  met  the  rush.  Muza  swerved  aside,  just  as  the 
heavy  falchion  swung  over  his  head,  and  by  a  back  stroke  of 
his  own  cimiter,  shore  through  the  cuirass  just  above  the  hip- 
joint,  and  the  blood  followed  the  blade.  The  brave  cavaliers 
saw  the  danger  of  their  chief ;  three  of  their  number  darted 
forward,  and  came  in  time  to  separate  the  combatants. 

Muza  stayed  not  to  encounter  the  new  reinforcement  ;  but 
speeding  across  the  plain,  was  soon  seen  rallying  his  own  scat- 
tered cavalry,  and  pouring  them  down,  in  one  general  body, 
upon  the  scanty  remnant  of  the  Spaniards. 

"  Our  day  is  come ! "  said  the  good  knight  Villena,  with  bit- 
ter resignation.  "Nothing  is  left  for  us,  my  friends,  but  to 
give  up  our  lives — an  example  how  Spanish  warriors  should 
live  and  die.  May  God  and  the  Holy  Mother  forgive  our  sins, 
and  shorten  our  purgatory  !  " 

Just  as  he  spoke,  a  clarion  was  heard  at  a  distance  ;  and  the 
sharpened  senses  of  the  knights  caught  the  ring  of  advancing 
hoofs. 

"We  are  saved  !  "  cried  Estevon  de  Suzon,  rising  on  his  stir- 
rups. While  he  spoke,  the  dashing  stream  of  the  Moorish 
horse  broke  over  the  little  band  ;  and  Estevon  beheld  bent 
upon  himself  the  dark  eyes  and  quivering  lip  of  Muza  Ben 
Abil  Gazan.  That  noble  knight  had  never,  perhaps,  till  then 
known  fear  ;  but  he  felt  his  heart  stand  still,  as  he  now  stood 
opposed  to  that  irresistible  foe. 

"  The  dark  fiend  guides  his  blade  !  "  thought  De  Suzon  ; 
"  but  I  was  shriven  but  yestermorn."  The  thought  restored  his 
wonted  courage  ;  and  he  spurred  on  to  meet  the  cimiter  of  the 
Moor. 

His  assault  look  Muza  by  surprise.  The  Moor's  horse 
stumbled  over  the  ground,  cumbered  with  the  dead  and  slip- 
pery with  blood,  and  his  uplifted  cimiter  could  not  do  more 
than  break  the  force  of  the  gigantic  arm  of  De  Suzon  ;  as  the 
knight's  falchion,  bearing  down  the  cimiter,  and  alighting  on 
the  turban  of  the  Mahometan,  clove  midway  through  its 
folds,  arrested  only  by  the  admirable  temper  of  the  links  of 
steel  which  protected  it.  The  shock  hurled  the  Moor  to  the 
ground.     He  rolled  under  the  saddle-girths  of  his  antagonist. 

"  Victory  and  St.  Jago  !  "  cried  the  knight,  "  Muza  is — " 

The  sentence  was  left  eternally  unfinished.  The  blade  of 
the  fallen  Moor  had  already  pierced  De  Suzon's  horse  through 
a  mortal  but  undefended  part.  It  fell,  bearing  his  rider  with 
him.  A  moment,  and  the  two  champions  lay  together  grap- 
pling in  the  dust  ;  in  the  next,  the  short  knife  which  the  Moor 


LEILA. 


45 


wore  in  his  girdle  had  penetrated  the  Christian's  visor,  passing 
through  the  brain. 

To  remount  his  steed,  that  remained  at  hand,  humbled  and 
motionless,  to  appear  again  amongst  the  thickest  of  the  fray, 
was  a  work  no  less  rapidly  accomplished  than  had  been  the 
slaughter  of  the  unhappy  Estevon  de  Suzon.  But  now  the 
fortune  of  the  day  was  stopped  in  a  progress  hitherto  so  tri- 
umphant to  the  Moors. 

Pricking  fast  over  the  plain  were  seen  the  glittering  horse- 
men of  the  Christian  reinforcements  ;  and,  at  the  remoter  dis- 
tance, the  royal  banner  of  Spain,  indistinctly  descried  through 
volumes  of  dust,  denoted  that  Ferdinard  himself  was  advanc- 
ing to  the  support  of  his  cavaliers. 

The  Moors,  however,  who  had  themselves  received  many  and 
mysterious  reinforcements,  which  seemed  to  spring  up  like  magic 
from  the  bosom  of  the  earth,  so  suddenly  and  unexpectedly 
had  they  emerged  from  copse  and  cleft  in  that  mountainous 
and  entangled  neighborhood,  were  not  unprepared  for  a  fresh 
foe.  At  the  command  of  ihe  vigilant  Muza,  they  drew  off,  fell 
into  order,  and,  seizing  while  yet  there  was  time  the  vantage- 
ground  which  inequalities  of  the  soil  and  the  shelter  of  the 
trees  gave  to  their  darts  and  agile  horse,  they  presented  an 
array  which  Ponce  de  Leon  himself,  who  now  arrived,  deemed 
it  more  prudent  not  to  assault.  While  Villena,  in  accents 
almost  inarticulate  with  rage,  was  urging  the  Marquess  of 
Cadiz  to  advance,  Ferdinand,  surrounded  by  the  flower  of  his 
court,  arrived  at  the  rear  of  the  troops  ;  and,  after  a  few  words 
interchanged  with  Ponce  de  1-eon,  gave  the  signal  of  retreat. 

When  the  Moors  beheld  that  noble  soldiery  slowly  breaking 
ground,  and  retiring  towards  the  camp,  even  Muza  could  not 
control  their  ardor.  They  rushed  forward,  harassing  the 
retreat  of  the  Christians,  andj  delaying  the  battle  by  various 
skirmishes. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  headlong  valor  of  Hernando  del 
Pulgar,  who  had  arrived  with  Ponce  de  Leon,  distinguished 
itself  in  feats  which  yet  live  in  the  songs  of  Spain.  Mounted 
upon  an  immense  steed,  and  himself  of  colossal  strength,  he 
was  seen  charging  alone  upon  the  assailants,  and  scattering 
numbers  to  the  ground  with  the  sweep  of  his  enormous  and 
two-handed  falchion.  With  a  loud  voice,  he  called  on  Muza 
to  oppose  him  ;  but  the  Moor,  fatigued  with  slaughter,  and 
scarcely  recovered  from  the  shock  of  his  encounter  with  De 
Suzon,  reserved  so  formidable  a  foe  for  a  future  contest. 

It  was  at  this  juncture,  while  the  field  was  covered  with  strag- 


46  LEILA. 

gling  skirmishers,  that  a  small  party  of  Spaniards,  in  cutting 
their  way  to  the  main  body  of  their  countrymen  through  one 
of  the  numerous  copses  held  by  the  enemy,  fell  in  at  the  out- 
skirt  with  an  equal  number  of  Moors,  and  engaged  them  in  a 
desperate  conflict,  hand  to  hand.  Amidst  the  infidels  was  one 
man  who  took  no  part  in  the  affray  :  at  a  little  distance  he 
gazed  for  a  few  moments  upon  the  fierce  and  relentless  slaugh- 
ter of  Moor  and  Christian  with  a  smile  of  stern  and  complacent 
delight;  and  then  taking  advantage  of  the  general  confusion, 
rode  gently,  and,  as  he  hoped,  unobserved,  away  from  the 
scene.  But  he  was  not  destined  so  quietly  to  escape.  A 
Spaniard  perceived  him,  and,  from  something  strange  and  un- 
usual in  his  garb,  judged  him  one  of  the  Moorish  leaders  ; 
and  presently  Almamen,  for  it  was  he,  beheld  before  him  the 
uplifted  falchion  of  a  foe  neither  disposed  to  give  quarter  nor 
to  hear  parley.  Brave  though  the  Israelite  was,  many  reasons 
concurred  to  prevent  his  taking  a  personal  part  against  the 
soldier  of  Spain  ;  and,  seeing  he  should  have  no  chance  of  ex- 
planation, he  fairly  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  galloped  across 
the  plain.  The  Spaniard  followed,  gained  upon  him,  and 
Almamen  at  length  turned,  in  despair  and  the  wrath  of  his 
haughty  nature. 

"  Have  thy  will,  fool  I  "  said  he,  between  his  grinded  teeth, 
as  he  griped  his  dagger  and  prepared  for  the  conflict.  It  was 
long  and  obstinate,  for  the  Spaniard  was  skilful  ;  and  the 
Hebrew,  wearing  no  mail,  and  without  any  weapon  more  for- 
midable than  a  sharp  and  well-tempered  dagger,  was  forced  to 
act  cautiously  on  the  defensive.  At  length,  the  combatants 
grappled,  and,  by  a  dexterous  thrust,  the  short  blade  of  Alma- 
men pierced  the  throat  of  his  antagonist,  who  fell  prostrate  to 
the  ground. 

*'  I  am  safe,"  he  thought,  as  he  wheeled  round  his  horse  ; 
when  lo  !  the  Spaniards  he  had  just  left  behind,  and  who  had 
now  routed  their  antagonists,  were  upon  him. 

"  Yield,  or  die,"  cried  the  leader  of  the  troop. 

Almamen  glared  round  ;  no  succor  was  at  hand.  "  I  am 
not  your  enemy,"  said  he  sullenly,  throwing  down  his  weapon — 
"  bear  me  to  your  camp." 

A  trooper  seized  his  rein,  and,  scouring  along,  the  Spaniards 
soon  reached  the  retreating  army. 

Meanwhile  the  evening  darkened,  the  shout  and  the  roar 
grew  gradually  less  loud  and  loud — the  battle  had  ceased — 
the  stragglers  had  joined  their  several  standards  ;  and,  by  the 
light  of  the  first  star,  the  Moorish  force,  bearing  their  wounded 


LEILA.  47 

brethren,  and  elated  with  success,  re-entered  the  gates  of 
Granada,  as  the  black  charger  of  the  hero  of  the  day,  closing 
the  rear  of  the  cavalry,  disappeared  within  the  gloomy  portals. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE  HERO  IN  THE  POWER  OF  THE  DREAMER. 

It  was  in  the  same  chamber,  and  nearly  at  the  same  hour,  in 
which  we  first  presented  to  the  reader  Boabdil  El  Chico,  that 
we  are  again  admitted  to- the  presence  of  that  ill-starred  mon- 
arch. He  was  not  alone.  His  favorite  slave.  Amine,  reclined 
upon  the  ottomans,  gazing  with  anxious  love  upon  his  thought- 
ful countenance,  as  he  leant  against  the  glittering  wall  by  the 
side  of  the  casement,  gazing  abstractedly  on  the  scene  below. 

From  afar  he  heard  the  shouts  of  the  populace  at  the  return 
of  Muza,  and  bursts  of  artillery  confirmed  the  tidings  of 
triumph  which  had  already  been  borne  to  his  ear, 

'*  May  the  King  live  forever  !  "  said  Amine  timidly  ;  "his 
armies  have  gone  forth  to  conquer." 

"  But  without  "their  King,"  replied  Boabdil  bitterly,  "  and 
headed  by  a  traitor  and  a  foe.  I  am  meshed  in  the  nets  of  an 
inextricable  fate  !  " 

"  Oh  I  "  said  the  slave,  with  sudden  energy,  as,  clasping 
her  hands,  she  rose  from  her  couch, — "  Oh,  my  lord  I  would  that 
these  humble  lips  dared  utter  other  words  than  those  of  love  !  " 

"  And  what  wise  counsel  would  they  give  me  ? "  asked 
Boabdil,  with  a  faint  smile.     "  Speak  on." 

"  I  will  obey  thee,  then,  even  if  it  displease,"  cried  Amine  ; 
and  she  rose,  her  cheek  glowing,  her  eyes  sparkling,  her  beau- 
tiful form  dilated.  "  I  am  a  daughter  of  Granada  ;  I  am  the 
beloved  of  a  King  ;  I  will  be  true  to  my  birth  and  to  my  for- 
tunes. Boabdil  El  Chico,  the  last  of  a  line  of  heroes,  shake  off 
these  gloomy  fantasies,  these  doubts  and  dreams  that  smother 
the  fire  of  a  great  nature  and  a  kingly  soul  !  Awake — arise — 
rob  Granada  of  her  Muza — be  thyself  her  Muza  !  Trustest 
thou  to  magic  and  to  spells  ?  Then  grave  them  on  thy  breast- 
plate, write  them  on  thy  sword,  and  live  no  longer  the  Dreamer 
of  the  Alhambra  ;  become  the  saviour  of  thy  people  !  " 

Boabdil  turned  and  gazed  on  the  inspired  and  beautiful  form 
before  him,  with  mingled  emotions  of  surprise  and  shame. 
"  Out  of  the  mouth  of  woman  cometh  my  rebuke  !  "  said  he 
sadly.     "  It  is  well  !  " 

"  Pardon  me,  pardon  me !  "  said  the  slave,  falling  humbly 


48  LEILA 

at  his  knees;  "but  blame  me  not  that  I  vvpuld  have  thee 
worthy  of  thyself.  Wert  thou  not  happier,  was  not  thy  heart 
more  light,  and  thy  hope  more  strong,  when  at  the  head  of 
thine  armies,  thine  own  cimiter  slew  thine  own  foes,  and  the 
terror  of  the  Hero-King  spread,  in  flame  and  slaughter,  from 
the  mountains  to  the  seas.  Boabdil  !  dear  as  thou  art  to  me — • 
equally  as  I  would  have  loved  theehadst  thou  been  born  a  lowly 
fisherman  of  the  Darro — since  thou  art  a  king,  I  would  have 
thee  die  a  king  ;  even  if  my  own  heart  broke  as  I  armed  thee 
for  thy  latest  battle  !  " 

"  Thou  knowest  not  what  thou  sayest.  Amine,"  said  Boabdil, 
"  nor  canst  thou  tell  what  spirits  that  are  not  of  earth  dictate 
to  the  actions,  and  watch  over  the  destinies,  of  the  rulers  of 
nations.  If  I  delay,  if  I  linger,  it  is  not  from  terror,  but  from 
wisdom.  The  cloud  must  gather  on,  dark  and  slow,  ere  the 
moment  for  the  thunderbolt  arrives." 

"  On  thine  house  will  the  thunderbolt  fall,  since  over  thine 
own  house  thou  sufferest  the  cloud  to  gather,"  said  a  calm  and 
stern  voice. 

Boabdil  started  ;  and  in  the  chamber  stood  a  third  person, 
in  the  shape  of  a  woman,  past  middle  age,  and  of  command- 
ing port  and  stature.  Upon  her  long-descending  robes  of  em- 
broidered purple  were  thickly  woven  jewels  of  royal  price  ; 
and  her  dark  hair,  slightly  tinged  with  gray,  parted  over  a 
majestic  brow,  while  a  small  diadem  surmounted  the  folds  of 
the  turban. 

"  My  mother  ! "  said  Boabdil,  with  some  haughty  reserve  in 
his  tone  ;  "your  presence  is  unexpected." 

"  Ay,"  answered  Ayxa  la  Horra,  for  it  was  indeed  that  cele- 
brated, and  haughty,  and  high-souled  queen,  "and  unwelcome  ; 
so  is  ever  that  of  your  true  friends.  But  not  thus  unwelcome 
was  the  presence  of  your  mother,  when  her  brain  and  her 
hand  delivered  you  from  the  dungeon  in  which  your  stern 
father  had  cast  your  youth,  and  the  dagger  and  the  bowl 
seemed  the  only  keys  that  would  unlock  the  cell." 

"  And  better  hadst  thou  left  the  ill-omened  son  that  thy 
womb  conceived,  to  die  thus  in  youth,  honored  and  lamented, 
than  to  live  to  manhood,  wrestling  against  an  evil  star  and  a 
relentless  fate." 

"  Son,"  said  the  Queen,  gazing  upon  him  with  lofty  and  half 
disdainful  compassion,  "  men's  conduct  shapes  out  their  own 
fortunes,  and  the  unlucky  are  never  the  valiant  and  the  wise." 

"  Madam,"  said  Boabdil,  coloring  with  passion,  "  I  am  still 
a  king,  nor  will  I  be  thus  bearded — withdraw  !  " 


LEILA.  ^g 

Ere  the  Queen  could  reply,  a  eunuch  entered,  and  whis- 
pered Boabdil. 

"  Ha ! "  said  he  joyfully,  stamping  his  foot,  "  comes  he 
then  to  brave  the  lion  in  his  den  ?  Let  the  rebel  look  to  it. 
Is  he  alone  ?" 

"  Alone,  great  King." 

"Bid  my  guards  wait  without ;  let  the  slightest  signal  sum- 
mon them.     Amine,  retire  !     Madam — " 

"Son!"  interrupted  Ayxa  la  Horra,  in  visible  agitation, 
"  do  I  guess  aright  ?  Is  the  brave  Muza — the  sole  bulwark 
and  hope  of  Granada — whom  unjustly  thou  wouldst  last  night 
have  placed  in  chains  (Chains  !  great  Prophet  !  is  it  thus  a 
king  should  reward  his  heroes  !) — is,  I  say,  Muza  here  ?  And 
wilt  thou  make  him  the  victim  of  his  own  generous  trust  ?" 

"  Retire,  woman  !  "  said  Boabdil  sullenly. 

"  I  will  not,  save  by  force  !  I  resisted  a  fiercer  soul  than 
thine  when  I  saved  thee  from  thy  father." 

"  Remain,  then,  if  thou  wilt,  and  learn  how  kings  can  punish 
traitors.     Mesnour,  admit  the  hero  of  Granada." 

Amine  had  vanished.  Boabdil  seated  himself  on  the  cush- 
ions— his  face  calm  but  pale.  The  Queen  stood  erect  at  a 
little  distance,  her  arms  folded  on  her  breast,  and  her  aspect 
knit  and  resolute.  In  a  few  moments  Muza  entered,  alone. 
He  approached  the  King  with  the  profound  salutation  of 
oriental  obeisance  ;  and  then  stood  before  him  with  downcast 
eyes,  in  an  attitude  from  which  respect  could  not  divorce  a 
natural  dignity  and  pride  of  mien. 

"  Prince,"  said  Boabdil,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  yester- 
morn,  when  I  sent  for  thee,  thou  didst  brave  my  orders. 
Even  in  mine  own  Alhambra  thy  minions  broke  out  in  mutiny  ; 
they  surrounded  the  fortress,  in  which  thou  wert  to  wait  my 
pleasure  ;  they  intercepted,  they  insulted,  they  drove  back  my 
guards  ;  they  stormed  the  towers  protected  by  the  banner  of 
thy  king.  The  governor,  a  coward  or  a  traitor,  rendered  thee 
to  the  rebellious  crowd.  Was  this  all  ?  No,  by  the  Prophet  ! 
Thou,  by  right  my  captive,  didst  leave  thy  prison  but  to  head 
mine  armies.  And  this  day,  the  traitor  subject — the  secret 
foe — was  the  leader  of  the  people  who  defy  a  king.  This 
night  thou  comest  to  me  unsought.  Thou  feelest  secure  from 
my  just  wrath,  even  in  my  palace.  Thine  insolence  blinds  and 
betrays  thee.     Man,  thou  art  in  my  power.     Ho,  there  !  " 

As  the  King  spoke,  he  rose  ;  and  presently,  the  arcades  at 
the  back  of  the  pavilion  were  darkened  by  long  lines  of  the 
Ethiopian  guard,  each  of  height  which,  beside  the  slight  Moor- 


50  LEILA. 

ish  race,  appeared  gigantic  ;  stolid  and  passionless  machines, 
to  execute,  without  thought,  the  bloodiest  or  the  lightest  caprice 
of  despotism.  There  they  stood  ;  their  silver  breastplates  and 
long  earrings  contrasting  their  dusky  skins  ;  and  bearing,  over 
their  shoulders,  immense  clubs  studded  with  brazen  nails.  A 
little  advanced  from  the  rest,  stood  the  captain,  with  the  fatal 
bowstring  hanging  carelessly  on  his  arm,  and  his  eyes  intent  to 
catch  the  slightest  gesture  of  the  King. 

"Behold  !  "  said  Boabdil  to  his  prisoner. 

"  I  do  ;  and  am  prepared  for  what  I  have  foreseen." 

The  Queen  grew  pale  but  remained  silent, 

Muza  resumed  : 

**  Lord  of  the  faithful !  "  said  he,  "  if  yestermorn  I  had  acted 
otherwise,  it  would  have  been  to  the  ruin  of  thy  throne  and  our 
common  race.  The  fierce  Zegris  suspected  and  learned  my 
capture.  They  summoned  the  troops  ;  they  delivered  me,  it 
was  true.  At  that  time,  had  I  reasoned  with  them,  it  would 
have  been  as  drops  upon  a  flame.  They  were  bent  on  besieg- 
ing thy  palace,  perhaps  upon  demanding  thy  abdication.  I 
could  not  stifle  their  fury,  but  I  could  direct  it.  In  a  moment 
of  passion,  I  led  them  from  rebellion  against  our  common  king 
to  victory  against  our  common  foe.  That  duty  done,  I  come 
unscathed  from  the  sword  of  the  Christian  to  bare  my  neck  to 
the  bowstring  of  my  friend.  Alone,  untracked,  unsuspected,  I 
have  entered  thy  palace  to  prove  to  the  sovereign  of  Granada 
that  the  defendant  of  his  throne  is  not  a  rebel  to  his  will.  Now 
summon  the  guards — I  have  done." 

"  Muza  ! "  said  Boabdil,  in  a  softened  voice,  while  he  shaded 
his  face  with  his  hand, "  we  played  together  as  children, and  I  have 
loved  thee  well  :  my  kingdom  even  now,  perchance,  is  passing 
from  me,  but  I  could  almost  be  reconciled  to  that  loss  if  I 
thought  thy  loyalty  had  not  left  me." 

"  Dost  thou,  in  truth,  suspect  the  faith  of  Muza  Ben  Abil 
Gazan  ?  "  said  the  Moorish  Prince,  in  a  tone  of  surprise  and 
sorrow.  "  Unhappy  king  !  I  deemed  that  my  services,  and 
not  my  defection,  made  my  crime." 

"Why  do  my  people  hate  me?  Why  do  my  armies  men- 
ace?" said  Boabdil  evasively;  "Why  should  a  subject  pos- 
sess that  allegiance  which  a  king  cannot  obtain  ?" 

"  Because,"  replied  Muza  boldly,  "  the  King  has  delegated 
to  a  subject  the  command  he  should  himself  assume.  Oh, 
Boabdil  ! "  he  continued  passionately — "  friend  of  my  boyhood, 
ere  the  evil  days  came  upon  us,  gladly  would  1  sink  to  rest 
beneath  the  dark  waves  of  yonder  river,  if  thy  arm  and  brain 


LEILA.  51 

would  fill  up  my  place  amongst  the  warriors  of  Granada.  And 
think  not  I  say  this  only  from  our  boyish  love  ;  think  not  I 
have  placed  my  life  in  thy  hands  only  from  that  servile  loyalty 
to  a  single  man  which  the  false  chivalry  of  Christendom  imposes 
as  a  sacred  creed  upon  its  knights  and  nobles.  But  I  speak 
and  act  but  from  one  principle — to  save  the  religion  of  my 
father  and  the  land  of  my  birth  :  for  this  I  have  risked  my  life 
against  the  foe  ;  for  this  I  surrender  my  life  to  the  sovereign  of 
my  country.  Granada  may  yet  survive,  if  monarch  and  people 
unite  together.  Granada  is  lost  forever,  if  her  children,  at  this 
fatal  hour,  are  divided  against  themselves.  If,  then,  I,  O  Boab- 
dil,  am  the  true  obstacle  to  thy  league  with  thine  own  subjects, 
give  me  at  once  to  the  bowstring,  and  my  sole  prayer  shall  be 
for  the  last  remnant  of  the  Moorish  name,  and  the  last  mon- 
arch of  the  Moorish  dynasty." 

"  My  son,  my  son  !  art  thou  convinced  at  last  ?  "  cried  the 
Queen,  struggling  with  her  tears  ;  for  she  was  one  who  wept 
easily  at  heroic  sentiments,  but  never  at  the  softer  sorrows,  or 
from  the  more  womanly  emotions. 

Boabdil  lifted  liis  head  with  a  vain  and  momentary  attempt 
at  pride  ;  his  eye  glanced  from  his  mother  to  his  friend,  and 
his  better  feelings  gushed  upon  him  with  irresistible  force  :  he 
threw  himself  into  Muza's  arms. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said  in  broken  accents,  "  forgive  me! 
How  could  I  have  wronged  thee  thus  ?  Yes,"  he  continued, 
as  he  started  from  the  noble  breast  on  which  for  a  moment  he 
indulged  no  ungenerous  weakness, — "  yes.  Prince,  your  example 
shames,  but  it  fires  me.  Granada  henceforth  shall  have  two 
chieftains  ;  and  if  I  be  jealous  of  thee,  it  shall  be  from  an 
emulation  thou  canst  not  blame.  Guards,  retire.  Mesnour  ! 
hio,  Mesnour  !  Proclaim  at  daybreak  that  I  myself  will  review 
the  troops  in  the  Vivarrambla.  Yet," — and,  as  he  spoke,  his 
voice  faltered,  and  his  brow  became  overcast,  "  yet,  stay  ;  seek 
me  thyself  at  daybreak,  and  I  will  give  thee  my  commands." 

"  Oh,  my  son,  why  hesitate  ?  "  cried  the  Queen  ;  "  Why 
waver  ?     Prosecute  thine  own  kingly  designs,  and — " 

*'  Hush,  madam,"  said  Boabdil,  regaining  his  customary  cold 
composure  ;  "  and  since  you  are  now  satisfied  with  your  son, 
leave  me  alone  with  Muza." 

"  The  Queen  sighed  heavily  ;  but  there  was  something  in 
the  calm  of  Boabdil  which  chilled  and  awed  her  more  than  his 
bursts  of  passion.  She  drew  her  veil  around  her,  and  passed 
slowly  and  reluctantly  from  the  chamber. 

"Muza,"  said  Boabdil,    when  alone  with  the  Prince,  and* 


$i  LEILA. 

fixing  his  large  and  thoughtful  eyes  upon  the  dark  orbs  of  his 
companion,  "  when,  in  our  younger  days,  we  conversed  together, 
do  you  remember  how  often  that  converse  turned  upon  those 
solemn  and  mysterious  themes  to  which  the  sages  of  our 
ancestral  land  directed  their  deepest  lore  ;  the  enigmas  of  the 
stars,  the  science  of  fate,  the  wild  researches  into  the  clouded 
future,  which  hides  the  destinies  of  nations  and  of  men  ?  Thou 
rememberest,  Muza,  that  to  such  studies  mine  own  vicissitudes 
and  sorrows,  even  in  childhood — the  strange  fortunes  which 
gave  me  in  my  cradle  the  epithet  of  El  Zogoybi — the  ominous 
predictions  of  santons  and  astrologers  as  to  the  trials  of  my 
earthly  fate — all  contributed  to  incline  my  soul.  Thou  didst  not 
despise  those  earnest  musings,  nor  our  ancestral  lore,  though, 
unlike  me,  ever  more  inclined  to  action  than  to  contemplation, 
that  which  thou  mightest  believe,  had  little  influence  upon 
what  thou  didst  design.  With  me  it  hath  been  otherwise  : 
every  event  of  life  hath  conspired  to  feed  my  early  preposses- 
sions ;  and  in  this  awful  crisis  of  my  fate,  I  have  placed  myself 
and  my  throne  rather  under  the  guardianship  of  spirits  than  of 
men.  This  alone  has  reconciled  me  to  inaction — to  the  torpor 
of  the  Alhambra — to  the  mutinies  of  my  people.  I  have  smiled 
when  foes  surrounded  and  friends  deserted  me,  secure  of  the 
aid  at  last — if  I  bided  but  the  fortunate  hour — of  the  charms  of 
protecting  spirits,  and  the  swords  of  the  invisible  creation. 
Thou  wonderest  what  this  should  lead  to.  Listen !  Two 
nights  since  (and  the  King  shuddered)  I  was  with  the  dead  ! 
My  father  appeared  before  me — not  as  I  knew  him  in  life — 
gaunt  and  terrible,  full  of  the  vigor  of  health,  and  the  strength 
of  kingly  empire,  and  of  fierce  passion — but  wan,  calm, 
shadowy.  From  lips  on  which  Azrael  had  set  his  livid  seal, 
he  bade  me  beware  of  f/iee  !  " 

The  King  ceased  suddenly  ;  and  sought  to  read  on  the  face 
of  Muza  the  effect  his  words  produced.  But  the  proud  and 
swarthy  features  of  the  Moor  evinced  no  pang  of  conscience ; 
a  slight  smile  of  pity  might  have  crossed  his  lips  for  a  moment, 
but  it  vanished  ere  the  King  could  detect  it.    Boabdil  continued  : 

"  Under  the  influence  of  this  warning,  I  issued  the  order  for 
thy  arrest.  Let  this  pass — I  resume  my  tale.  I  attempted  to 
throw  myself  at  the  spectre's  feet ;  it  glided  from  me,  motion- 
less and  impalpable.  I  asked  the  Dead  One  if  he  forgave  his 
unhappy  son  the  sin  of  rebellion — alas  !  too  well  requited  even 
upon  earth.  And  the  voice  again  came  forth,  and  bade  me  keep 
the  crown  that  I  had  gained,  as  the  sole  atonement  for  the  past. 
Then  again  I  asked,  whether  the  hour  for  action  had  arrived  ? 


L£lLA  $^ 

And  the  spectre,  while  it  faded  gradually  into  air,  answered, 
*  No  ! '  '  Oh  ! '  I  exclaimed,  'ere  thou  leavest  me,  be  one  sign 
accorded  me,  that  I  have  not  dreamt  this  vision  ;  and  give  me, 
I  pray  thee,  note  and  warning  when  the  evil  star  of  Boabdil 
shall  withhold  its  influence,  and  he  may  strike,  without  resist- 
ance from  the  Powers  above,  for  his  glory  and  his  throne.' 
'The  sign  and  the  warning  are  bequeathed  thee,'  answered  the 
ghostly  image.  It  vanished — thick  darkness  fell  around  ;  and, 
when  once  more  the  liglit  of  the  lamps  we  bore  became  visible, 
behold  there  stood  before  me  a  skeleton,  in  the  regal  robe  of 
the  kings  of  Granada,  and  on  its  grisly  head  was  the  imperial 
diadem.  With  one  hand  raised,  it  pointed  to  the  opi)osite  wall, 
wherein  burned,  like  an  orb  of  gloomy  fire,  a  broad  dial  plate, 
on  which  were  graven  these  words,  'beware — fear  not — 
ARM  ! '  the  finger  of  the  dial  moved  rapidly  round,  and  rested 
at  the  word  beivare.  From  that  hour  to  the  one  in  which  I  last 
beheld  it,  it  hath  not  moved.  Muza,  the  tale  is  done ;  wilt 
thou  visit  with  me  this  enchanted  chamber,  and  see  if  the  hour 
be  come  ? " 

"  Commander  of  the  faithful,"  said  Muza,  "  the  story  is  dread 
and  awful.  But  pardon  thy  friend — wert  thou  alone,  or  was 
the  santon  Almamen  thy  companion  ?" 

"  Why  the  question  ?  "  said  Boabdil  evasively  and  slightly 
coloring. 

"I  fear  his  truth,"  answered  Muza;  "the  Christian  King 
conquers  more  foes  by  craft  than  force  :  and  his  spies  are 
more  deadly  than  his  warriors.  Wherefore  this  caution  against 
me  but  (pardon  me)  for  thine  own  undoing?  Were  1  a  traitor, 
could  Ferdinand  himself  have  endangered  thy  crown  so  immi- 
nently as  the  revenge  of  the  leader  of  thine  own  armies  ? 
Why,  too,  this  desire  to  keep  thee  inactive  ?  For  the  brave 
every  hour  hath  its  chances  ;  but,  for  us,  every  hour  increases 
our  peril.  If  we  seize  not  the  present  time,  our  supplies  are 
cut  off — and  famine  is  a  foe  all  our  valor  cannot  resist.  This 
dervise — who  is  he  ?  A  stranger,  not  of  our  race  and  blood. 
But  this  morning  I  found  him  without  the  walls,  not  far  from 
the  Spaniards*  camp." 

"  Ha  !  "  cried  the  King  quickly,  "and  what  said  he  ?  " 

"  Little,  but  in  hints  ;  sheltering  himself,  by  loose  hints, 
under  thy  name." 

"  He !  What  dared  he  own  ?  Muza,  what  were  those 
hints?" 

The  Moor  here  recounted  the  interview  with  Almamen,  his 
detention,  his  inactivity  in  the  battle,  and  his  subsequent  cap- 


54  LEILA. 

ture  by  the  Spaniards.     The  King  listened  attentively,  and 
regained  his  composure. 

"  It  is  a  strange  and  awful  man,"  said  he,  after  a  pause. 
"Guards  and  chains  will  not  detain  him.  Ere  long  he  will 
return.  But  thou,  at  least,  Muza,  art  henceforth  free,  alike 
from  the  suspicion  of  the  living,  and  the  warnings  of  the  dead. 
No,  my  friend,"  continued  Boabdil,  with  generous  warmth  ; 
"  it  is  better  to  lose  a  crown,  to  lose  life  itself,  than  confidence 
in  a  heart  like  thine.  Come,  let  us  inspect  this  magic  tablet ; 
perchance — and  how  my  heart  bounds  as  I  utter  the  hope  ! — 
the  hour  may  have  arrived." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  FULLER  VIEW  OF  THE  CHARACTER  OF  BOABDIL. MUZA  IN  THE 

GARDENS  OF  HIS  BELOVED. 

MuzA  Ben  Abil  Gazan  returned  from  his  visit  to  Boabdil 
with  a  thoughtful  and  depressed  spirit.  His  arguments  had 
failed  to  induce  the  King  to  disdain  the  command  of  the  magic 
dial,  which  still  forbade  him  to  arm  against  the  invaders  ;  and 
although  the  royal  favor  was  no  longer  withdrawn  from  him- 
self, the  Moor  felt  that  such  favor  hung  upon  a  capricious  and 
uncertain  tenure  so  long  as  his  sovereign  was  the  slave  of 
superstition  or  imposture.  But  that  noble  warrior,  whose 
character  the  adversity  of  his  country  had  singularly  exalted 
and  refined,  even  while  increasing  its  natural  fierceness,  thought 
little  of  himself  in  comparison  with  the  evils  and  misfortunes 
which  the  King's  continued  irresolution  must  bring  upon 
Granada. 

"So  brave,  and  yet  so  weak  (thought  he)  ;  so  weak,  and  yet 
so  obstinate  ;  so  wise  a  reasoner,  yet  so  credulous  a  dupe  ! 
Unhappy  Boabdil  !  the  stars,  indeed,  seem  to  fight  against 
thee,  and  their  influences  at  thy  birth  marred  all  thy  gifts  and 
virtues  with  counteracting  infirmity  and  error." 

Muza,  more  perhaps  than  any  subject  in  Granada,  did  justice 
to  the  real  character  of  the  King  ;  but  even  he  was  unable  to 
penetrate  all  its  complicated  and  latent  mysteries.  Boabdil 
El  Chico  was  no  ordinary  man  :  his  affections  were  warm  and 
generous,  his  nature  calm  and  gentle  ;  and  though  early  power 
and  the  painful  experience  of  a  mutinous  people  and  ungrate- 
ful court  had  imparted  to  that  nature  an  irascibility  of  temper, 
and  a  quickness  of  suspicion,  foreign  to  its  earlier  soil,  he  was 
easily  led  back  to  generosity  and  justice  ;  and  if  warm  in 


LEILA.  55 

resentment,  was  magnanimous  in  forgiveness.  Deeply  accom- 
plished in  all  the  learning  of  his  race  and  time,  he  was — in 
books,  at  least — a  philosopher  ;  and,  indeed,  his  attachment  to 
the  abstruser  studies  was  one  of  the  main  causes  which  unfitted 
him  for  his  present  station.  But  it  was  the  circumstances 
attendant  on  his  birth  and  childhood  that  had  perverted  his 
keen  and  graceful  intellect  to  morbid  indulgence  in  mystic 
reveries,  and  all  the  doubt,  fear,  and  irresolution  of  a  man 
who  pushes  metaphysics  into  the  supernatural  world.  Dark 
prophecies  accumulated  omens  over  his  head ;  men  united 
in  considering  him  born  to  disastrous  destinies.  When- 
ever he  had  sought  to  wrestle  against  hostile  circum- 
stances, some  seemingly  accidental  cause,  sudden  and 
unforeseen,  had  blasted  the  labors  of  his  most  vigorous  energy, 
the  fruit  of  his  most  deliberate  wisdom.  Thus,  by  degrees,  a 
gloomy  and  despairing  cloud  settled  over  his  mind ;  but,  se- 
cretly skeptical  of  the  Mahometan  creed,  and  too  proud  and 
sanguine  to  resign  himself  wholly  and  passively  to  the  doctrine 
of  inevitable  predestination,  he  sought  to  contend  against  the 
machinations  of  hostile  demons  and  boding  stars,  not  by  hu- 
man but  spiritual  agencies.  Collecting  around  him  the  seers 
and  magicians  of  Orient  fanaticism,  he  lived  in  the  visions  of 
another  world  ;  and,  flattered  by  the  promises  of  impostors  or 
dreamers,  and  deceived  by  his  own  subtle  and  brooding  ten- 
dencies of  mind,  it  was  amongst  spells  and  cabala  that  he 
thought  to  draw  forth  the  mighty  secret  which  was  to  free  him 
from  the  meshes  of  the  preternatural  enemies  of  his  fortune, 
and  leave  him  the  freedom  of  other  men  to  wrestle,  with  equal 
chances,  against  peril  and  adversities.  It  was  thus,  that  Alma- 
men  had  won  the  mastery  over  his  mind  ;  and,  though  upon 
matters  of  common  and  earthly  import,  or  solid  learning,  Boab- 
dil  could  contend  with  sages,  upon  those  of  superstition  he 
could  be  fooled  by  a  child.  He  was,  in  this,  a  kind  of  Hamlet : 
formed,  under  prosperous  and  serene  fortunes,  to  render  bless- 
ings and  reap  renown  ;  but  over  whom  the  chilling  shadow  of 
another  world  had  fallen  ;  whose  soul  curdled  back  into  itself  ; 
whose  life  had  been  separated  from  that  of  the  herd  ;  whom 
doubts  and  awe  drew  back,  while  circumstances  impelled  on- 
ward ;  whom  a  supernatural  doom  invested  with  a  peculiar 
philosophy,  not  of  human  effect  and  cause,  and  who,  with  every 
gift  that  could  ennoble  and  adorn,  was  suddenly  palsied  into 
that  mortal  imbecility,  which  is  almost  ever  the  result  of  mortal 
visitings  into  the  haunted  regions  of  the  Ghostly  and  Unknown. 
The  gloomier  colorings  of  his  mind  had  been  deepened,  too, 


56  LEILA. 

by  secret  remorse.  For  the  preservation  of  his  own  life,  con- 
stantly threatened  by  his  unnatural  predecessor,  he  had  been 
early  driven  into  rebellion  against  his  father.  In  age,  infirm- 
ity, and  blindness,  that  fierce  King  had  been  made  a  prisoner 
at  Salobrena  by  his  brother,  El  Zagal,  Boabdil's  partner  in  re- 
bellion ;  and  dying  suddenly,  El  Zagal  was  suspected  of  his 
murder.  Though  Boabdil  was  innocent  of  such  a  crime,  he 
felt  himself  guilty  of  the  causes  which  led  to  it ;  and  a  dark 
memory,  resting  upon  his  conscience,  served  to  augment  his 
superstition  and  enervate  the  vigor  of  his  resolves :  for,  of  all 
things  that  make  men  dreamers,  none  is  so  effectual  as  remorse 
operating  upon  a  thoughtful  temperament. 

Revolving  the  character  of  his  sovereign,  and  sadly  fore- 
boding the  ruin  of  his  country,  the  young  hero  of  Granada 
pursued  his  way,  until  his  steps,  almost  unconsciously,  led  hira 
towards  the  abode  of  Leila.  He  scaled  the  walls  of  the  garden 
as  before — he  neared  the  house.  All  was  silent  and  deserted: 
his  signal  was  unanswered,  his  murmured  song  brought  no 
grateful  light  to  the  lattice,  no  fairy  footstep  to  the  balcony. 
Dejected,  and  sad  of  heart,  he  retired  from  the  spot ;  and,  re- 
turning home,  sought  a  couch,  to  which  even  all  the  fatigue 
and  excitement  he  had  undergone  could  not  win  the  forgetful- 
ness  of  slumber.  The  mystery  that  wrapt  the  maiden  of  his 
homage,  the  rareness  of  their  interviews,  and  the  wild  and 
poetical  romance  that  made  a  very  principle  of  the  chivalry  of 
the  Spanish  Moors,  had  imparted  to  Muza's  love  for  Leila  a 
passionate  depth,  which  at  this  day,  and  in  more  enervated 
climes,  is  unknown  to  the  Mahometan  lover.  His  keenest  in 
quiries  had  been  unable  to  pierce  the  secret  of  her  birth  and 
station.  Little  of  the  inmates  of  that  guarded  and  lonely  house 
was  known  in  the  neighborhood :  the  only  one  ever  seen  with- 
out its  walls  was  an  old  man  of  Jewish  faith,  supposed  to  be  a 
superintendent  of  the  foreign  slaves  (for  no  Mahometan  slave 
would  have  been  subjected  to  the  insult  of  submission  to  a  Jew); 
and  though  there  were  rumors  of  the  vast  wealth  and  gorgeous 
luxury  within  the  mansion,  it  was  supposed  the  abode  of  some 
Moorish  emir  absent  from  the  city — and  the  interest  of  the 
gossips  was  at  this  time  absorbed  in  more  weighty  matters  than 
the  affairs  of  a  neighbor.  But  when,  the  next  eve,  and  the 
next,  Muza  returned  to  the  spot  equally  in  vain,  his  impatience 
and  alarm  could  no  longer  be  restrained  ;  he  resolved  to  lie  in 
watch  by  the  portals  of  the  house  night  and  day,  until,  at  least, 
he  could  discover  some  one  of  the  inmates,  whom  he  could 
question  of  his  love,  and  perhaps  bribe  to  his  service.     As  with 


LEILA.  57 

this  resolution  he  was  hovering  round  the  mansion,  he  beheld, 
stealing  from  a  small  door  in  one  of  the  low  wings  of  the  house, 
a  bended  and  decrepit  form  :  it  supported  its  steps  upon  a 
staff ;  and  as  now,  entering  the  garden,  it  stooped  by  the  side 
of  a  fountain  to  cull  flowers  and  herbs  by  the  light  of  the 
moon,  the  Moor  almost  started  to  behold  a  countenance  which 
resembled  that  of  some  ghoul  or  vampire  haunting  the  places 
of  the  dead.  He  smiled  at  his  own  fear ;  and,  with  a  quick 
and  stealthy  pace,  hastened  through  the  trees,  and,  gaining 
the  spot  where  the  old  man  bent,  placed  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder  ere  his  presence  was  perceived. 

Ximen — for  it  was  he — looked  round  eagerly,  and  a  faint 
cry  of  terror  broke  from  his  lips. 

"Hush!"  said  the  Moor;  "fear  me  not,  I  am  a  friend. 
Thou  art  old,  man — gold  is  ever  welcome  to  the  aged."  As 
he  spoke,  he  dropped  several  broad  pieces  into  the  breast  of 
the  ]ew,  whose  ghastly  features  gave  forth  a  yet  more  ghastly 
smile  as  he  received  the  gift,  and  mumbled  forth  : 

"  Charitable  young  man  !  Generous,  benevolent,  excellent 
young  man  ! " 

"Now  then,"  said  Muza,  "tell  me — you  belong  to  this 
house — Leila,  the  maiden  within — tell  me  of  her — is  she 
well?" 

"  I  trust  so,"  returned  the  Jew  ;  "  I  trust  so,  noble  master." 

"  Trust  so  !  k/ioTV  you  not  of  her  state  ? " 

"  Not  I ;  for  many  nights  I  have  not  seen  her,  excellent  sir," 
answered  Ximen  ;  "  she  hath  left  Granada,  she  hath  gone. 
You  waste  your  time,  and  mar  your  precious  health  amidst 
these  nightly  dews  :  they  are  unwholesome,  very  unwholesome, 
at  the  time  of  the  new  moon." 

"Gone!"  echoed  the  Moor  ;  "  left  Granada  !  Woe  is  me  ! — 
and  whither  ?  There,  there,  more  gold  for  you — old  man,  tell 
me  whither  ?" 

"  Alas  !  I  know  not,  most  magnanimous  young  man  ;  I  am 
but  a  servant — I  know  nothing." 

"  When  will  she  return  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  thee." 

"  Who  is  thy  master  ?    Who  owns  yon  mansion  ? " 

Ximen's  countenance  fell ;  he  looked  round  in  doubt  and 
fear,  and  then,  after  a  short  pause,  answered  :  "  A  wealthy 
man,  good  sir — a  Moor  of  Africa  ;  but  he  hath  also  gone  ;  he 
but  seldom  visits  us  ;  Granada  is  not  so  peaceful  a  residence 
as  it  was — I  would  go  too,  if  I  could." 

Muza  released  his  hold  of  Ximen,  who  gazed  at  the  Moor's 


58  LEILA. 

working  countenance  with  a  malignant  smile — for  Ximen  hated 
all  men. 

"  Thou  hast  done  with  me,  young  warrior  ?  Pleasant  dreams 
to  thee  under  the  new  moon — thou  hadst  best  retire  to  thy 
bed.     Farewell  !  bless  thy  charity  to  the  poor  old  man  !" 

Muza  heard  him  not  ;  he  remained  motionless  for  some  mo- 
ments ;  and  then  with  a  heavy  sigh,  as  that  of  one  who  has 
gained  the  mastery  of  himself  after  a  bitter  struggle,  he  said, 
half  aloud,  "Allah  be  with  thee,  Leila  !  Granada  now  is  my 
only  mistress." 

CHAPTER  V. 
boabdil's  reconciliation  with  his  people. 

Several  days  had  elapsed  without  any  encounter  between 
Moor  and  Christian  ;  for  Ferdinand's  cold  and  sober  policy, 
warned  by  the  loss  he  had  sustained  in  the  ambush  of  Muza, 
was  now  bent  on  preserving  rigorous  restraint  upon  the  fiery 
spirits  he  commanded.  He  forbade  all  parties  of  skirmish,  in 
which  the  Moors,  indeed,  had  usually  gained  the  advantage, 
and  contented  himself  with  occupying  all  the  passes  through 
Avhich  provisions  could  arrive  at  the  besieged  city.  He  com- 
menced strong  fortifications  around  his  camp  ;  and,  forbidding 
assault  on  the  Moors,  defied  it  against  himself. 

Meanwhile,  Almamen  had  not  returned  to  Granada.  No 
tidings  of  his  fate  reached  the  King ;  and  his  prolonged  disap- 
pearance began  to  produce  visible  and  salutary  effect  upon  the 
long  dormant  energies  of  Boabdil.  The  counsels  of  Muza,  the 
exhortations  of  the  Queen  Mother,  the  enthusiasm  of  his  mis- 
tress, Amine,  uncounteracted  by  the  arts  of  the  magician, 
aroused  the  torpid  lion  of  his  nature.  But  still  his  army  and 
his  subjects  murmured  against  him  ;  and  his  appearance  in  the 
Vivarrambla  might,  possibly,  be  the  signal  of  revolt.  It  was 
at  this  time  that  a  most  fortunate  circumstance  at  once  restored 
to  him  the  confidence  and  affections  of  his  people.  His  stern 
uncle.  El  Zagal — once  a  rival  for  his  crown,  and  whose  daring 
valor,  mature  age,  and  military  sagacity,  had  won  him  a  pow- 
erful party  within  the  city — had  been,  some  months  since,  con- 
quered by  Ferdinand  ;  and,  in  yielding  the  possessions  he  held, 
had  been  rewarded  with  a  barren  and  dependent  principality. 
His  defeat,  far  from  benefiting  Boabdil,  had  exasperated  the 
Moors  against  their  King.  *'  For,"  said  they,  almost  with  one 
voice,  "  the  brave  El  Zagal  never  would  have  succumbed  had 
Boabdil  properly  supported  his  arms."     And  it  was  the  popular 


leILa.  ^^ 

discontent  and  rage  at  El  Zagal's  defeat,  which  had,  indeed, 
served  Boabdil  with  a  reasonable  excuse  for  shutting  himself 
in  the  strong  fortress  of  the  Alhambra.  It  now  happened  that 
El  Zagal,  whose  dominant  passion  was  hatred  of  his  nephew, 
and  whose  fierce  nature  chafed  at  its  present  cage,  resolved,  in 
his  old  age,  to  blast  all  his  former  fame  by  a  signal  treason  to 
his  country.  Forgetting  everything  but  revenge  against  his 
nephew,  whom  he  was  resolved  should  share  his  own  ruin,  he 
armed  his  subjects,  crossed  the  country,  and  appeared  at  the 
head  of  a  gallant  troop  in  the  Spanish  camp,  an  ally  with  Fer- 
dinand against  Granada.  When  this  was  heard  by  the  Moors, 
it  is  impossible  to  conceive  their  indignant  wrath  :  the  crime 
of  EI  Zagal  produced  an  instantaneous  reaction  in  favor  of 
Boabdil  ;  the  crowd  surrounded  the  Alhambra,  and  with  pray- 
ers and  tears  entreated  the  forgiveness  of  the  King.  This 
event  completed  the  conquest  of  Boabdil  over  his  own  irreso- 
lution. He  ordained  an  assembly  of  the  whole  army  in  the 
broad  space  of  the  Vivarrambla  :  and  when  at  break  of  day  he 
appeared  in  full  armor  in  the  square,  with  Muza  at  his  right 
hand,  himself  in  the  flower  of  youthful  beauty,  and  proud  to 
feel  once  more  a  hero  and  a  King-,  the  joy  of  the  people  knew 
no  limit ;  the  air  was  rent  with  cries  of  "  Long  live  Boabdil  el 
Chico  !  "  and  the  young  monarch  turning  to  Muza,  with  his 
soul  upon  his  brow,  exclaimed  :  "  The  hour  has  come — lam 
no  longer  El  Zogoybi !  " 

CHAPTER  VI. 

LEILA. — HER    NEW    LOVER. PORTRAIT    OF   THE    FIRST    INQUISI- 
TOR  OF    SPAIN. THE   CHALICE    RETURNED    TO    THE    LIPS   OF 

ALMAMEN. 

While  thus  the  state  of  events  within  Granada,  the  course 
of  our  story  transports  us  back  to  the  Christian  camp.  It  was  in 
one  of  a  long  line  of  tents,  that  skirted  the  pavilion  of  Isabel, 
and  was  appropriated  to  the  ladies  attendant  on  the  royal  pres- 
ence, that  a  young  female  sate  alone.  The  dusk  of  evening 
already  gathered  around,  and  only  the  outline  of  her  form  and 
features  was  visible.  But  even  that,  imperfectly  seen — the 
dejected  attitude  of  the  form,  the  drooping  head,  the  hands 
clasped  upon  the  knees — might  have  sufficed  to  denote  the. 
melancholy  nature  of  the  revery  which  the  maid  indulged. 

"  Ah,"  thought  she,  "  to  what  danger  am  I  exposed  !  If  my 
father,  if  my  lover  dreamed  of  the  persecution  to  which  their 
poor  Leila  is  abandoned  !  " 


6o  LEILA. 

A  few  tears,  large  and  bitter,  broke  from  her  eyes,  and  stole 
unheeded  down  her  cheek.  At  that  moment,  the  deep  and 
musical  chime  of  a  bell  was  heard  summoning  the  chiefs  of 
the  army  to  prayer  ;  for  Ferdinand  invested  all  his  worldly 
schemes  with  a  religious  covering,  and  to  his  politic  war  he 
sought  to  give  the  imposing  character  of  a  sacred  crusade. 

"That  sound,"  thought  she,  sinking  on  her  knees,  "summons 
the  Nazarenes  to  the  presence  of  their  God.  It  reminds  me, 
a  captive  by  the  waters  of  Babylon,  that  God  is  ever  with  the 
friendless.  Oh,  succor  and  defend  me.  Thou  who  didst  look 
of  old  upon  Ruth  standing  amidst  the  corn,  and  didst  watch 
over  thy  chosen  people  in  the  hungry  wilderness,  and  in  the 
stranger's  land." 

Wrapt  in  her  mute  and  passionate  devotions,  Leila  remained 
long  in  her  touching  posture.  The  bell  had  ceased  ;  all  with- 
out was  hushed  and  still,  when  the  drapery  stretched  across  the 
opening  of  the  tent  was  lifted,  and  a  young  Spaniard,  cloaked, 
from  head  to  foot,  in  a  long  mantle,  stood  within  the  space. 
He  gazed  in  silence  upon  the  kneeling  maiden  ;  nor  was  it  until 
she  rose  that  he  made  his  presence  audible. 

"  Ah,  fairest !  "  said  he  then,  as  he  attempted  to  take  her 
hand,  "  thou  wilt  not  answer  my  letters — see  me,  then,  at  thy 
feet.     It  is  thou  who  teachest  me  to  kneel." 

"  You,  Prince  !  "  said  Leila,  agitated,  and  in  great  and  evi- 
dent fear.  "  Why  harass  and  insult  me  thus  ?  Am  I  not 
sacred  as  a  hostage  and  a  charge  ?  And  are  name,  honor, 
peace,  and  all  that  woman  is  taught  to  hold  most  dear,  to  be 
thus  robbed  from  me,  under  the  pretext  of  a  love  dishonoring 
to  thee  and  an  insult  to  myself  ? " 

"  Sweet  one,"  answered  Don  Juan  with  a  slight  laugh,  "  thou 
hast  learned,  within  yonder  walls,  a  creed  of  morals  little 
known  to  Moorish  maidens,  if  fame  belies  them  not.  Suffer 
me  to  teach  thee  easier  morality  and  sounder  logic.  It  is  no 
dishonor  to  a  Christian  prince  to  adore  beauty  like  thine ;  it  is 
no  insult  to  a  maiden  hostage  if  the  Infant  of  Spain  proffer  her 
the  homage  of  his  heart.  But  we  waste  time.  Spies,  and 
envious  tongues,  and  vigilant  eyes,  are  round  us  ;  and  it  is  not 
often  that  I  can  baffle  them,  as  I  have  done  now.  Fairest, 
hear  me  !  "  and  this  time  he  succeeded  in  seizing  the  hand, 
which  vainly  struggled  against  his  clasp.  "  Nay,  why  so  coy  ? 
What  can  female  heart  desire,  that  my  love  cannot  shower 
upon  thine  ?  Speak  but  the  word,  enchanting  maiden,  and  I 
will  bear  thee  from  these  scenes,  unseemly  to  thy  gentle 
eyes.     Amidst  the  pavilions  of  princes  shall  thou  repose  ;  and, 


LEILA.  6i 

amidst  gardens  of  the  orange  and  the  rose,  shalt  thou  listen  to 
the  vows  of  thine  adorer.  Surely,  in  these  arms  thou  wilt  not 
pine  for  a  barbarous  home,  and  a  fated  city.  And  if  thy  pride, 
sweet  maiden,  deafen  thee  to  the  voice  of  nature,  learn  that 
the  haughtiest  dames  of  Spain  would  bend,  in  envious  court, 
to  the  beloved  of  their  future  king.  This  night — listen  to  me — 
I  say,  listen — this  night  I  will  bear  thee  hence  !  Be  but  mine, 
and  no  matter,  whether  heretic  or  infidel,  or  whatever  the 
priests  style  thee,  neither  Church  nor  King  shall  tear  thee  from 
the  bosom  of  thy  lover." 

"  It  is  well  spoken,  son  of  the  Most  Christian  Monarch  !  " 
said  a  deep  voice  ;  and  the  Dominican,  Tomas  de  Torquem- 
ada,  stood  before  tlie  Prince. 

Juan,  as  if  struck  by  a  thunderbolt,  released  his  hold,  and, 
staggering  back  a  few  paces,  seemed  to  cower,  abashed  and 
humbled,  before  the  eye  of  the  priest,  as  it  glared  upon  him 
through  the  gathering  darkness. 

*'  Prince,"  said  the  friar  after  a  pause,  '*  not  to  thee  will  our 
holy  Church  attribute  this  crime  ;  thy  pious  heart  hath  been 
betrayed  by  sorcery.     Retire  !  " 

"  Father,"  said  the  Prince,  in  a  tone  into  which,  despite  his 
awe  of  that  terrible  man,  the  First  Grand  Inquisitor  of 
Spain,  his  libertine  spirit  involuntarily  forced  itself,  in  a  half- 
latent  raillery,  "  sorcery  of  eyes  like  those  bewitched  the  wise 
son  of  a  more  pious  sire  than  even  Ferdinand  of  Arragon." 

"  He  blasphemes  !  "  muttered  the  monk.  "  Prince,  beware ! 
You  know  not  what  you  do." 

The  Prince  lingered  ;  and  then,  as  if  aware  that  he  must 
yield,  gathered  his  cloak  round  him,  and  left  the  tent  without 
reply. 

Pale  and  trembling,  with  fears  no  less  felt,  perhaps,  though 
more  vague  and  perplexed,  than  those  from  which  she  had  just 
been  delivered,  Leila  stood  before  the  monk. 

"  Be  seated,  daughter  of  the  faithless,"  said  Torquemada, 
"  we  would  converse  with  thee  :  and,  as  thou  valuest — I  say 
not  thy  soul,  for,  alas  !  of  that  precious  treasure  thou  art  not 
conscious — but  mark  me,  woman  !  as  thou  prizest  the  safety  of 
those  delicate  limbs,  and  that  wanton  beauty,  answer  truly 
what  I  shall  ask  thee.  The  man  who  brought  thee  hither — is 
he,  in  truth,  thy  father  ?" 

"  Alas  !  "  answered  Leila,  almost  fainting  with  terror  at  this 
rude  and  menacing  address,  "he  is,  in  truth,  mine  only  parent." 

"And  his  faith — his  religion  ?" 

"  I  have  never  beheld  him  pray." 


62  LEILA 

"  Hem  !  he   never  prays — a  noticeable   fact.     But  of  what 
sect,  what  creed,  does  he  profess  himself  ?  " 
,  "I  cannot  answer  thee." 

"  Nay,  there  be  means  that  may  wring  from  thee  an  answer. 
Maiden,  be  not  so  stubborn  ;  speak  !  Thinkest  thou  he  serves 
the  temple  of  the  Mahometan?" 

,  "  No  !  oh,  no  !  "  answered  poor  Leila  eagerly,  deeming  that 
her  reply,  in  this,  at  least,  would  be  acceptable.  "  He  disowns, 
he  scorns,  he  abhors,  the  Moorish  faith — even  (she  added) 
with  too  fierce  a  zeal." 

"  Thou  dost  not  share  that  zeal,  then  ?  Well,  worships  he  in 
secret  after  the  Christian  rites?  " 

Leila  hung  her  head,  and  answered  not. 

"  I  understand  thy  silence.  And  in  what  belief,  maiden,  wert 
thou  reared  beneath  his  roof  ?" 

"  I  know  not  what  it  is  called  among  men,"  answered  Leila, 
with  firmness,  "  but  it  is  the  faith  of  the  One  God,  who  pro- 
tects his  chosen,  and  shall  avenge  their  wrongs — the  God  who 
made  earth  and  heaven  ;  and  who,  in  an  idolatrous  and  be- 
nighted world,  transmitted  the  knowledge  of  Himself  and  His 
holy  laws,  from  age  to  age,  through  the  channel  of  one  solitary 
people,  in  the  plains  of  Palestine,  and  by  the  waters  of  the 
Hebron." 

"And  in  that  faith  thou  wert  trained,  maiden,  by  thy  father  ? " 
said  the  Dominican  calmly.  "  I  am  satisfied.  Rest  here,  in 
peace  :  we  may  meet  again,  soon." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  with  a  soft  and  tranquil  smile — 
a  smile  in  which  glazing  eyes  and  agonizing  hearts  had  often 
beheld  the  ghastly  omen  of  the  torture  and  the  stake. 

On  quitting  the  unfortunate  Leila,  the  monk  took  his  way 
towards  the  neighboring  tent  of  Ferdinand.  But  ere  he  reached 
it,  a  new  thought  seemed  to  strike  the  holy  man  ;  he  altered 
the  direction  of  his  steps,  and  gained  one  of  those  little  shrines 
common  in  Catholic  countries,  and  which  had  been  hastily 
built  of  wood,  in  the  centre  of  a  small  copse,  and  by  the  side  of 
a  brawling  rivulet,  towards  the  back  of  the  King's  pavilion. 
But  one  solitary  sentry,  at  the  entrance  of  the  copse,  guarded 
the  consecrated  place  ;  and  its  exceeding  loneliness  and  quiet 
were  a  grateful  contrast  to  the  animated  world  of  the  surround- 
ing camp.  The  monk  entered  the  shrine,  and  fell  down  oa 
his  knees  before  an  image  of  the  Virgin,  rudely  sculptured, 
indeed,  but  richly  decorated. 

"  Ah,  Holy  Mother  !  "  groaned  this  singular  man,  "  support 
me  in  the  trial  to  which  I  am  appointed.     Thou  knowest  that 


LEILA,  63 

the  glory  of  thy  blessed  Son  is  the  sole  object  for  which  I  live, 
and  move,  and  have  my  being ;  but  at  times,  alas  !  the  spirit 
is  infected  with  the  weakness  of  the  flesh.  Ora pro  nobis,  O 
Mother  of  Mercy  !  Verily,  oftentimes  my  heart  sinks  within 
me  when  it  is  mine  to  vindicate  the  honor  of  thy  holy  cause 
against  the  young  and  the  tender,  the  aged  and  the  decrepit. 
But  what  are  beauty  and  youth,  gray  hairs  and  trembling  knees, 
in  the  eye  of  the  Creator  ?  Miserable  worms  are  we  all  ;  nor 
is  there  anything  acceptable  in  the  Divine  sight,  but  the  hearts 
of  the  faithful.  Youth  without  faith,  age  without  belief,  purity 
without  grace,  virtue  without  holiness,  are  only  more  hideous 
by  their  seeming  beauty — whited  sepulchres,  glittering  rotten- 
ness. I  know  this — I  know  it  ;  but  the  human  man  is  strong 
within  me.  Strengthen  me,  that  I  pluck  it  out ;  so  that,  by 
diligent  and  constant  struggle  with  the  feeble  Adam,  thy  ser- 
vant may  be  reduced  into  a  mere  machine,  to  punish  the  god- 
less and  advance  the  Church." 

Here  sobs  and  tears  choked  the  speech  of  the  Dominican  ; 
he  grovelled  in  the  dust,  he  tore  his  hair,  he  howled  aloud  :  the 
agony  was  fierce  upon  him.  At  length,  he  drew  from  his  robe 
a  whip,  composed  of  several  thongs  studded  with  small  and 
sharp  nails  ;  and,  stripping  his  gown,  and  the  shirt  of  hair 
worn  underneath,  over  his  shoulders,  applied  the  scourge  to  the 
naked  flesh,  with  a  fury  which  soon  covered  the  green  sward 
with  the  thick  and  clotted  blood.  The  exhaustion  which  fol- 
lowed this  terrible  penance  seemed  to  restore  the  senses  of  the 
stern  fanatic.  A  smile  broke  over  the  features,  that  bodily 
pain  only  released  from  the  anguished  expression  of  mental  and 
visionary  struggles  ;  and  when  he  rose  and  drew  the  hair-cloth 
shirt  over  the  lacerated  and  quivering  flesh,  he  said  :  "  Now 
hast  thou  deigned  to  comfort  and  visit  me,  O  pitying  Mother  ; 
and  even  as  by  these  austerities  against  this  miserable  body  is 
the  spirit  relieved  and  soothed,  so  dost  thou  typify  and  betoken 
that  men's  bodies  are  not  to  be  spared  by  those  who  seek  to 
save  souls,  and  bring  the  nations  of  the  earth  into  thy  fold." 

With  that  thought  the  countenance  of  Torquemada  reassumed 
its  wonted  rigid  and  passionless  composure  ;  and,  replacing 
the  scourge,  yet  clotted  with  blood,  in  his  bosom,  he  pursued 
his  way  to  the  royal  tent. 

He  found  Ferdinand  poring  over  the  accounts  of  the  vast 
expenses  of  his  military  preparations,  which  he  had  just  received 
from  his  treasurer  ;  and  the  brow  of  the  thrifty,  though  osten- 
tatious monarch,  was  greatly  overcast  by  the  examination. 

"By  the  Bulls  of  Guisando  ! "  said  the  King  gravely,"! 


04  LfclLA. 

purchase  the  salvation  of  my  army,  in  tliis  holy  war,  at  a  mar« 
vellous  heavy  price  ;  and  if  the  infidels  hold  out  much  longer, 
we  shall  have  to  pawn  our  very  patrimony  of  Arragon." 

"  Son,"  answered  the  Dominican,  "  to  purposes  like  thine, 
fear  not  that  Providence  itself  will  supply  the  worldly  means. 
But  why  doubtest  thou  ?  Are  not  the  means  within  thy  reach  ? 
It  is  just  that  thou  alone  shouldst  not  support  the  wars  by 
which  Christendom  is  glorified.     Are  there  not  others  ?" 

"  I  know  what  thou  wouldst  say,  father,"  interrupted  the 
King  quickly,  "  thou  wouldst  observe  that  my  brother  monarchs 
should  assist  me  with  arms  and  treasure.  Most  just.  But  they 
are  avaricious  and  envious,  Tomas ;  and  Mammon  hath  cor- 
rupted them." 

"  Nay,  not  to  kings  pointed  my  thought." 

"  Well,  then,"  resumed  the  King  impatiently,  "  thou  wouldst 
imply  that  mine  own  knights  and  nobles  should  yield  up  their 
coffers,  and  mortgage  their  possessions.  And  so  they  ought ; 
but  they  murmur,  already,  at  what  they  have  yielded  to  our 
necessities." 

"And,  in  truth,"  rejoined  the  friar,  "  these  noble  warriors 
should  not  be  shorn  of  a  splendor  that  well  becomes  the  valiant 
champions  of  the  Church.  Nay,  listen  to  me,  son,  and  I  may 
suggest  a  means  whereby,  not  the  friends,  but  enemies,  of  the 
Catholic  faitli  shall  contribute  to  the  downfall  of  the  Paynim. 
In  thy  dominions,  especially  those  newly  won,  throughout 
Andalusia,  in  the  kingdom  of  Cordova,  are  men  of  enormous 
wealth  ;  the  very  caverns  of  the  earth  are  sown  with  the  impious 
treasure  they  have  plundered  from  Christian  hands,  and  con- 
sume in  the  furtherance  of  their  iniquity.  Sire,  I  speak  of  the 
race  that  crucified  the  Lord." 

"  The  Jews — ay,  but  the  excuse — " 

**  Is  before  thee.  This  traitor,  with  whom  thou  boldest  inter- 
course, who  vowed  to  thee  to  render  up  Granada,  and  who  was 
found,  the  very  next  morning,  fighting  with  the  Moors,  with 
the  blood  of  a  Spanish  martyr  red  upon  his  hands,  did  he  not 
confess  that  his  fathers  were  of  that  hateful  race  ?  did  he  not 
bargain  with  thee  to  elevate  his  brethren  to  the  rank  of  Chris- 
tians ?  And  has  he  not  left  with  thee,  upon  false  pretences,  a 
harlot  of  his  faith,  who,  by  sorcery  and  the  help  of  the  evil  one, 
hath  seduced  into  frantic  passion  the  heart  of  the  heir  of  the 
most  Christian  king  ?" 

"  Ha  !  thus  does  that  libertine  boy  ever  scandalize  us  !  "  said 
the  King  bitterly. 

"Well,"  pursued  the  Dominican,  not  heeding  the  interrup- 


LfeltA.  6^ 

tion,  "  have  you  not  here  excuse  enough  to  wring  from  the 
whole  race  the  purchase  of  their  existence  ?  Note  the  glaring 
proof  of  this  conspiracy  of  hell.  The  outcasts  of  the  earth 
employed  this  crafty  agent  to  contract  with  thee  for  power  ; 
and,  to  consummate  their  guilty  designs,  the  arts  that  seduced 
Solomon  are  employed  against  thy  son.  The  beauty  of  the 
strange  woman  captivates  his  senses  ;  so  that  through  the 
future  sovereign  of  Spain,  the  counsels  of  Jewish  craft  may 
establish  the  domination  of  Jewish  ambition.  How  knowest  thou 
(he  added,  as  he  observed  that  Ferdinand  listened  to  him  with 
earnest  attention) — how  knowest  thou  but  what  the  next  step 
might  have  been  thy  secret  assassination,  so  that  the  victim  of 
witchcraft,  the  minion  of  the  Jewess,  might  reign  in  the  stead 
of  the  mighty  and  unconquerable  Ferdinand  ?" 

"  Go  on,  father,"  said  the  King  thoughtfully  ;  "  I  see,  at 
least,  enough  to  justify  an  impost  upon  these  servitors  of 
Mammon." 

"  But,  though  common-sense  suggests  to  us,"  continued 
Torquemada,  "  that  this  disguised  Israelite  could  not  have 
acted  on  so  vast  a  design  without  the  instigation  of  his 
brethren,  not  only  in  Granada,  but  throughout  all  Andalusia, 
would  it  not  be  right  to  obtain  from  him  his  confession,  and 
that  of  the  maiden,  within  the  camp,  so  that  we  may  have  broad 
and  undeniable  evidence  whereon  to  act,  and  to  still  all  cavil, 
that  may  come  not  only  from  the  godless,  but  even  from  the 
too  tender  scruples  of  the  righteous  ?  Even  the  Queen — whom 
the  saints  ever  guard  ! — hath  ever  too  soft  a  heart  for  these 
infidels  ;  and — " 

"  Right  !  "  cried  the  King,  again  breaking  upon  Torquemada  ; 
"  Isabel,  the  Queen  of  Castile,  must  be  satisfied  of  the  justice 
of  all  our  actions." 

"And  should  it  be  proved  that  thy  throne  or  life  were  en- 
dangered, and  that  magic  was  exercised  to  entrap  her  royal 
son  into  a  passion  for  a  Jewish  maiden,  which  the  Church  holds 
a  crime  worthy  of  excommunication  itself,  surely,  instead  of 
counteracting,  she  would  assist  our  schemes." 

"  Holy  friend,"  said  Ferdinand,  with  energy,  "ever  a  com- 
forter, both  for  this  world  and  the  next,  to  thee,  and  to  the  new 
powers  intrusted  to  thee,  we  commit  this  charge  ;  see  to  it  at 
once  ;  time  presses — Granada  is  obstinate — the  treasury  waxes 
low." 

"  Son,  thou  hast  said  enough,"  replied  the  Dominican,  closing 
his  eyes,  and  muttering  a  short  thanksgiving.  "  Now  then  to 
my  task." 


66  LEILA. 

"  Yet  stay,"  said  the  King,  with  an  altered  visage  :  "  follow 
me  to  my  oratory  within  :  my  heart  is  heavy,  and  I  would  fain 
seek  the  solace  of  the  confessional." 

The  monk  obeyed  :  and  while  Ferdinand,  whose  wonderful 
abilities  were  mingled  with  the  weakest  superstition, — who 
persecuted  from  policy,  yet  believed,  in  his  own  heart,  that  he 
punished  but  from  piety, — confessed,  with  penitent  tears,  the 
grave  offences  of  aves  forgotten,  and  beads  untold  ;  and  while 
the  Dominican  admonished,  rebuked,  or  soothed — neither  prince 
nor  monk  ever  dreamt  that  there  was  an  error  to  confess  in,  or 
a  penance  to  be  adjudged  to,  the  cruelty  that  tortured  a  fellow 
being,  or  the  avarice  that  sought  pretences  for  the  extortion  of 
a  whole  people. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    TRIBUNAL    AND    THE    MIRACLE. 

It  was  the  dead  of  night  ;  the  army  was  hushed  in  sleep, 
when  four  soldiers,  belonging  to  the  Holy  Brotherhood,  bear- 
ing with  them  one  whose  manacles  proclaimed  him  a  prisoner, 
passed  in  steady  silence  to  a  huge  tent  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  royal  pavilion.  A  deep  dyke,  formidable  barricadoes,  and 
sentries  stationed  at  frequent  intervals,  testified  the  estimation 
in  which  the  safety  of  this  segment  of  the  camp  was  held.  The 
tent  to  which  the  soldiers  approached  was,  in  extent,  larger 
than  even  the  King's  pavilion  itself  :  a  mansion  of  canvas,  sur- 
rounded by  a  wide  wall  of  massive  stones  ;  and  from  its  sum- 
mit gloomed,  in  the  clear  and  shining  starlight,  a  small  black 
pennant,  on  which  was  wrought  a  white,  broad-pointed  cross. 
The  soldiers  halted  at  the  gate  in  the  wall,  resigned  their 
charge,  with  a  whispered  watchword,  to  two  gaunt  sentries  ; 
and  then  (relieving  the  sentries  who  proceeded  on  with  the 
prisoner)  remained,  mute  and  motionless,  at  the  post  ;  for  stern 
silence  and  Spartan  discipline  were  the  attributes  of  the 
brotherhood  of  St.  Hermandad. 

The  prisoner,  as  he  now  neared  the  tent,  halted  a  moment, 
looked  round  steadily  as  if  to  fix  the  spot  in  his  remembrance, 
and  then,  with  an  impatient  though  stately  gesture,  followed 
his  guards.  He  passed  two  divisions  of  the  tent,  dimly  lighted, 
and  apparently  deserted.  A  man,  clad  in  long  black  robes, 
with  a  white  cross  on  his  breast,  now  appeared  ;  there  was  an 
interchange  of  signals  in  dumb-show,  and  in  another  moment 
Almamen,  the  Hebrew,  stood  within  a  large  chamber  (if  so  that 
division  of  the  tent  might  be   called)  hung  with  black  serge, 


LEILA  67 

At  the  upper  part  of  the  space  was  an  estraao,  or  platform,  on 
which,  by  a  long  table,  sate  three  men  ;  while  at  the  head  of  the 
board  was  seen  the  calm  and  rigid  countenance  of  Tomas  de 
Torquemada.  The  threshold  of  the  tent  vvas  guarded  by  two 
men,  in  garments  similar  in  hue  and  fashion  to  those  of  the  fig- 
ure who  had  ushered  Ahnamen  into  the  presence  of  the  inquis- 
itor, each  bearing  a  long  lance,  and  with  a  long,  two-edged 
sword  by  his  side.  This  made  all  the  inhabitants  of  that  mel- 
ancholy and  ominous  apartment. 

The  Israelite  looked  round  with  a  pale  brow,  but  a  flashing 
and  scornful  eye  ;  and  when  he  met  the  gaze  of  the  Domini- 
can, it  almost  seemed  as  if  those  two  men,  each  so  raised  above 
his  fellows  by  the  sternness  of  his  nature,  and  the  energy  of 
his  passions,  sought  by  a  look  alone  to  assert  his  own  suprem- 
acy and  crush  his  foe.  Yet,  in  truth,  neither  did  justice  to 
the  other ;  and  the  indignant  disdain  of  Almamen  was 
retorted  by  the  cold  and  icy  contempt  of  the  Dominican. 

"  Prisoner,"  said  Torquemada  (the  first  to  withdraw  his 
gaze),  *'  a  less  haughty  and  stubborn  demeanor  might  have  bet- 
ter suited  thy  condition  ;  but  no  matter ;  our  Church  is  meek 
and  humble.  We  have  sent  for  thee  in  a  charitable  and  pater- 
nal hope  ;  for  although  as  spy  and  traitor  thy  life  is  already 
forfeited,  yet  would  we  fain  redeem  and  spare  it  to  repentance. 
That  hope  mayst  thou  not  forego,  for  the  nature  of  all  of  us  is 
weak  and  clings  to  life — that  straw  of  the  drowning  seaman," 

"Priest,  if  such  thou  art,"  replied  the  Hebrew,  "I  have 
already,  when  first  brought  to  this  camp,  explained  the  causes 
of  my  detention  amongst  the  troops  of  the  Moor.  It  was  my 
zeal  for  the  King  of  Spain  that  brought  me  into  that  peril. 
Escaping  from  that  peril,  incurred  in  his  behalf,  is  the  King  of 
Spain  to  be  my  accuser  and  my  judge  ?  If,  however,  my  life  now 
be  sought  as  the  grateful  return  for  the  proffer  of  inestimable 
service,  I  stand  here  to  yield  it.  Do  thy  worst  ;  and  tell  thy 
master  that  he  loses  more  by  my  death  than  he  can  win  by  the 
lives  of  thirty  thousand  warriors," 

**  Cease  this  idle  babble,"  said  the  monk-inquisitor  con- 
temptuously, "  nor  think  thou  couldst  ever  deceive,  with  thy 
empty  words,  the  mighty  intellect  of  Ferdinand  of  Spain. 
Thou  hast  now  to  defend  thyself  against  still  graver  charges 
than  those  of  treachery  to  the  King  whom  thou  didst  profess 
to  serve.  Yea,  misbeliever  as  thou  art,  it  is  thine  to  vindicate 
thyself  from  blasphemy  against  the  God  thou  shouldst  adore. 
Confess  the  truth  :  thou  art  of  the  tribe  and  faith  of  Israel?" 

The  Hebrew  frowned  darkly.     "Man,"  said  he  solemnly, 


68  LEILA. 

*'is  a  judge  of  the  deeds  of  men,  but  not  of  their  opinions.  I 
will  not  answer  thee." 

"  Pause  !  We  have  means  at  hand  that  the  strongest  nerves 
and  the  stoutest  hearts  have  failed  to  encounter.  Pause — 
confess  !  " 

"Thy  threat  awes  me  not,"  said  the  Hebrew:  "but  I  am 
human  ;  and  since  thou  wouldst  know  the  truth,  thou  mayst 
learn  it  without  the  torture.  I  am  of  the  same  race  as  the 
Apostles  of  thy  Church — I  am  a  Jew." 

"  He  confesses — write  down  the  words.  Prisoner,  thou  hast 
done  wisely  ;  and  we  pray  the  Lord  that,  acting  thus,  thou 
mayst  escaj)e  both  the  torture  and  the  death.  And  in  that 
faith  thy  daughter  was  reared  ?     Answer." 

■'  My  daughter  !  There  is  no  charge  against  her  !  By  the 
God  of  Sinai  and  Horeb,  you  dare  not  touch  a  hair  of  that 
innocent  head  ! " 

"Answer,"  repeated  the  inquisitor  coldly. 

"  I  do  answer.  She  was  brought  up  no  renegade  to  her 
father's  faith." 

"  Write  down  the  confession.  Prisoner,"  resumed  the  Domin- 
ican, after  a  pause,  "but  few  more  questions  remain  ;  answer 
them  truly,  and  thy  life  is  saved.  In  thy  conspiracy  to  raise 
thy  brotherhood  of  Andalusia  to  power  and  influence — or,  as 
thou  didst  craftily  term  it,  to  equal  laws  with  the  followers  of 
our  blessed  Lord — in  thy  conspiracy  (by  what  dark  arts  I  seek 
not  now  to  \inovf— protege  nos,  beate  Domine .')  to  entangle  in 
wanton  affections  to  thy  daughter  the  heart  of  the  Infant  of 
Spain — silence,  I  say — be  still ! — in  this  conspiracy  thou  wert 
aided,  abetted,  or  instigated  by  certain  Jews  of  Andalusia — " 

"  Hold,  priest ! "  cried  Almamen  impetuously,  "  thou  didst 
name  my  child.  Do  I  hear  aright?  Placed  under  the  sacred 
charge  of  a  king  and  a  belted  knight,  has  she — oh  !  answer  me, 
I  implore  thee — been  insulted  by  the  licentious  addresses  of 
one  of  that  King's  own  lineage?  Answer  !  I  am  a  Jew — but 
I  am  a  father,  and  a  man." 

"This  pretended  passion  deceives  us  not,"  said  the  Domini- 
can (who,  himself  cut  off  from  the  ties  of  life,  knew  nothing  of 
their  power).  "  Reply  to  the  question  put  to  thee  :  name  thy 
accomplices." 

"  I  have  told  thee  all.  Thou  hast  refused  to  answer  me.  I 
scorn  and  defy  thee  :  my  lips  are  closed." 

The  Grand  Inquisitor  glanced  to  his  brethren,  and  raised 
his  hand.  His  assistants  whispered  each  other ;  one  of  them 
rose,  and  disappeared  behind  the  canvas  at  the  back  of  the 


LEILA.  69 

tent.  Presently  the  hangings  were  withdrawn  ;  and  the  pris- 
oner beheld  an  interior  chamber,  hung  with  various  instru- 
ments, the  nature  of  which  was  betrayed  by  their  very  shape  : 
while  by  the  rack,  placed  in  the  centre  of  that  dreary  chamber, 
stood  a  tall  and  grisly  figure,  his  arms  bare,  his  eyes  bent,  as 
by  an  instinct,  on  the  prisoner. 

Almamen  gazed  at  these  dread  preparations  with  an  unflinch- 
ing aspect.  The  guards  at  the  entrance  of  the  tent  approached  ; 
they  struck  off  the  fetters  from  his  feet  and  hands  ;  they  led 
him  towards  the  appointed  place  of  torture. 

Suddenly  the  Israelite  paused. 

"  Priest,"  said  he,  in  a  more  humble  accent  than  he  had  yet 
assumed,  "  the  tidings  that  thou  didst  communicate  to  me 
respecting  the  sole  daughter  of  my  house  and  love  bewildered 
and  confused  me  for  the  moment.  Suffer  me  but  for  a  single 
moment  to  recollect  my  senses,  and  I  will  answer  without  com- 
pulsion all  thou  mayest  ask.    Permit  thy  question  to  be  repeated." 

The  Dominican,  whose  cruelty  to  others  seemed  to  himself 
sanctioned  by  his  own  insensibility  to  fear,  and  contempt  for 
bodily  pain,  smiled  with  bitter  scorn  at  the  apparent  vacillation 
and  weakness  of  the  prisoner  :  but,  as  he  delighted  not  in 
torture  merely  for  torture's  sake,  he  motioned  to  the  guards  to 
release  the  Israelite  ;  and  replied  in  a  voice  unnaturally  mild 
and  kindly,  considering  the  circumstances  of  the  scene: 

"  Prisoner,"  could  we  save  thee  from  pain,  even  by  the 
anguish  of  our  own  flesh  and  sinews,  Heaven  is  our  judge  that 
we  would  willingly  undergo  the  torture  which,  with  grief  and 
sorrow,  we  ordained  to  thee.  Pause — take  breath — collect  thy- 
self. Three  minutes  shalt  thou  have  to  consider  what  course 
to  adopt  ere  we  repeat  the  question.  But  then  beware  how 
thou  triflest  with  our  indulgence." 

"It  suflSces — I  thank  thee,"  said  the  Hebrew,  with  a  touch 
of  gratitude  in  his  voice.  As  he  spoke,  he  bent  his  face  within 
his  bosom,  which  he  covered,  as  in  profound  meditation,  with 
the  folds  of  his  long  robe.  Scarce  half  the  brief  time  allowed 
him  had  expired,  when  he  again  lifted  his  countenance,  and,  as 
he  did  so,  flung  back  his  garment.  The  Dominican  uttered  a 
loud  cry ;  the  guards  started  back  in  awe.  A  wonderful 
change  had  come  over  the  intended  victim  ;  he  seemed  to 
stand  amongst  them  literally  wrapt  in  fire  ;  flames  burst  from 
his  lip,  and  played  with  his  long  locks,  as,  catching  the  glowing 
hue,  they  curled  over  his  shoulders,  like  serpents  of  burning 
light  :  blood-red  were  his  breast  and  limbs,  his  haughty  -crest, 
and  his  outstretched  arm  ;  and  as,  for  a  single  moment,  he  met 


70  LEILA. 

the  shuddering  eyes  of  his  judges,  he  seemed,  indeed,  to  verify 
all  the  superstitions  of  the  time — no  longer  the  trembling  cap- 
tive, but  the  mighty  demon,  or  the  terrible  magician. 

The  Dominican  was  the  first  to  recover  his  self-possession, 
"Seize  the  enchanter!"  he  exclaimed;  but  no  man  stirred. 
Ere  yet  the  exclamation  liad  died  on  his  lip,  Almamen  took 
from  his  breast  a  phial,  and  dashed  it  on  the  ground  ;  it  broke 
into  a  thousand  shivers  :  a  mist  rose  over  the  apartment — it 
spread,  thickened,  darkened,  as  a  sudden  night  ;  the  lamps 
could  not  pierce  it.  The  luminous  form  of  the  Hebrew  grew 
dull  and  dim,  until  it  vanished  in  the  shade.  On  every  eye 
blindness  seemed  to  fall.  There  was  a  dead  silence,  broken  by 
a  cry  and  groan  ;  and  when,  after  some  minutes,  the  darkness 
gradually  dispersed,  Almamen  was  gone.  One  of  the  guards  lay 
bathed  in  blood  upon  the  ground  ;  they  raised  him  ;  he  had 
attempted  to  seize  the  prisoner,  and  had  been  stricken  with  a 
mortal  wound.  He  died  as  he  faltered  forth  the  explanation. 
In  the  confusion  and  dismay  of  the  scene,  none  noticed,  till 
long  afterwards,  that  the  prisoner  had  paused  long  enough  to 
strip  the  dying  guard  of  his  long  mantle  ;  a  proof  that  he  feared 
his  more  secret  arts  might  not  suiifice  to  bear  him  safe  through 
the  camp,  without  the  aid  of  worldly  stratagem. 

"  The  fiend  has  been  amongst  us  !  "  said  the  Dominican 
solemnly,  falling  on  his  knees, — "  let  us  pray  !  " 


BOOK  III. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ISABEL   AND   THE    JEWISH   MAIDEN. 

While  this  scene  took  place  before  the  tribunal  of  Tor- 
quemada,  Leila  had  been  summoned  from  the  indulgence  of 
fears  which  her  gentle  nature  and  her  luxurious  nurturing  had 
ill  fitted  her  to  contend  against,  to  the  presence  of  the  Queen. 
That  gifted  and  high-spirited  princess,  whose  virtues  were  her 
own,  whose  faults  were  of  her  age,  was  not,  it  is  true,  without 
the  superstition  and  something  of  the  intolerant  spirit  of  her 
royal  spouse  :  but,  even  where  her  faith  assented  to  persecu- 
tion, her  heart  ever  inclined  to  mercy ;  and  it  was  her  voice 


LEILA.  It 

alone  that  ever  counteracted  the  fiery  zeal  of  Torquemada,  and 
mitigated  the  sufferings  of  the  unhappy  ones  who  fell  under 
the  suspicion  of  heresy.  She  had,  happily,  too,  within  her  a 
strong  sense  of  justice,  as  well  as  the  sentiment  of  compassion  ; 
and  often,  when  she  could  not  save  the  accused,  she  prevented 
the  consequences  of  his  imputed  crime  falling  upon  the  inno- 
cent members  of  his  house  or  tribe. 

In  the  interval  between  his  conversation  with  Ferdinand  and 
the  examination  of  Almamen,  the  Dominican  had  sought  the 
Queen  ;  and  had  placed  before  her,  in  glowing  colors,  not  only 
the  treason  of  Almamen,  but  the  consequences  of  the  impious 
passion  her  son  had  conceived  for  Leila.  In  that  day,  any 
connection  between  a  Christian  knight  and  a  Jewess  was  deemed 
a  sin  scarce  expiable  ;  and  Isabel  conceived  all  that  horror  of 
her  son's  offence  which  was  natural  in  a  pious  mother  and  a 
haughty  queen.  But,  despite  all  the  arguments  of  the  friar, 
she  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  render  up  Leila  to  the  tri- 
bunal of  the  Inquisition  ;  and  that  dread  court,  but  newly 
established,  did  not  dare,  without  her  consent,  to  seize  upon 
one  under  the  immediate  protection  of  the  Queen. 

"  Fear  not,  father,"  said  Isabel,  with  quiet  firmness,  "  I  will 
take  upon  myself  to  examine  the  maiden  ;  and,  at  least,  I  will 
see  her  removed  from  all  chance  of  tempting  or  being  tempted 
by  this  graceless  boy.  But  she  was  placed  under  charge  of  the 
King  and  myself  as  a  hostage  and  a  trust  ;  we  accepted  the 
charge,  and  our  royal  honor  is  pledged  to  the  safety  of  the 
maiden.  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  deny  the  existence  of 
sorcery,  assured  as  we  are  of  its  emanation  from  the  Evil  One  ; 
but  I  fear,  in  this  fancy  of  Juan's,  that  the -maiden  is  more 
sinned  against  than  sinning  :  and  yet  my  son  is,  doubtless,  not 
aware  of  the  unhappy  faith  of  the  Jewess  ;  the  knowledge  of 
which  alone  will  suffice  to  cure  him  of  his  error.  You  shake 
your  head,  father ;  but,  I  repeat,  I  will  act  in  this  affair  so  as 
to  merit  the  confidence  I  demand.  Go,  good  Tomas.  We 
have  not  reigned  so  long  without  belief  in  our  power  to 
control  and  deal  with  a  simple  maiden." 

The  Queen  extended  her  hand  to  the  monk,  with  a  smile  so 
sweet  in  its  dignity  that  it  softened  even  that  rugged  heart ; 
and  with  a  reluctant  sigh  and  a  murmured  prayer  that  her 
counsels  might  be  guided  for  the  best,  Torquemada  left  the 
royal  presence. 

"  The  poor  child  !  "  thought  Isabel, — those  tender  limbs  and 
that  fragile  form  are  ill  fitted  for  yon  monk's  stern  tutelage. 
She  seems  gentle  ;  and  her  face  has  in  it  all  the  yielding  soft- 


72  LEILA. 

ness  of  our  sex  :  doubtless  by  mild  means  she  may  be  per- 
suaded to  abjure  her  wretched  creed  ;  and  the  shade  of  some 
holy  convent  may  hide  her  alike  from  the  licentious  gaze  of 
my  son  and  the  iron  zeal  of  the  Inquisitor.     I  will  see  her." 

When  Leila  entered  the  Queen's  pavilion,  Isabel,  who  was 
alone,  marked  her  trembling  step  with  a  compassionate  eye  ;  and 
as  Leila,  in  obedience  to  the  Queen's  request,  threw  up  her  veil, 
the  paleness  of  her  cheek,  and  the  traces  of  recent  tears,  ap- 
pealed to  Isabel's  heart  with  more  success  than  had  attended 
all  the  pious  invectives  of  Torquemada. 

"Maiden,"  said  Isabel  encouragingly,  "  I  fear  thou  hast  been 
strangely  harassed  by  the  thoughtless  caprice  of  tiie  young 
Prince.  Think  of  it  no  more.  But,  if  thou  art  what  I  have 
ventured  to  believe,  and  to  assert  thee  to  be,  cheerfully  sub- 
scribe to  the  means  I  will  suggest  for  preventing  the  continu- 
ance of  addresses  which  cannot  but  injure  thy  fair  name." 

"  Ah,  madam  !  "  said  Leila,  as  she  fell  on  one  knee  beside 
the  Queen,  "  most  joyfully,  most  gratefully,  will  I  accept  any 
asylum  which  proffers  solitude  and  peace." 

"  The  asylum  to  which  I  would  fain  lead  thy  steps,"  an- 
swered Isabel  gently,  "  is  indeed  one  whose  solitude  is  holy, 
whose  peace  is  that  of  heaven.  But  of  this  hereafter.  Thou 
wilt  not  hesitate,  then,  to  quit  the  camp,  unknown  to  the  Prince, 
and  ere  he  can  again  seek  thee  ?  " 

"  Hesitate,  Madam  ?  Ah  !  rather,  how  shall  I  express  my 
thanks  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  read  that  face  misjudgingly,"  thought  the  Queen, 
as  she  resumed.  "  Be  it  so  ;  we  will  not  lose  another  night. 
Withdraw  yonder,  through  the  inner  tent ;  the  litter  shall  be 
straight  prepared  for  thee  ;  and  ere  midnight  thou  shalt  sleep 
in  safety  under  the  roof  of  one  of  the  bravest  knights  and  no- 
blest ladies  that  our  realm  can  boast.  Thou  shalt  bear  with  thee 
a  letter  that  shall  commend  thee  specially  to  the  care  of  thy 
hostess — thou  wilt  find  her  of  a  kindly  and  fostering  nature. 
And,  oh,  maiden  !  "  added  the  Queen,  with  benevolent  warmth, 
"  steel  not  thy  heart  against  her — listen  with  ductile  senses  to 
her  gentle  ministry ;  and  may  God  and  His  Son  prosper  that 
pious  lady's  counsel,  so  that  it  may  win  a  new  strayling  to  the 
Immortal  Fold  !  " 

Leila  listened  and  wondered,  but  made  no  answer  ;  until,  as 
she  gained  the  entrance  to  the  interior  division  of  the  tent,  she 
stopped  abruptly,  and  said  : 

"  Pardon  me,  gracious  Queen,  but  dare  I  ask  thee  one  ques- 
tion— it  is  not  of  myself  ?  " 


LEILA.  73 

"  Speak,  and  fear  not." 

"  My  father — hath  aught  been  heard  of  him  ?  He  promised 
thai  ere  the  fifth  day  were  past  he  would  once  more  see  his 
child  ;  and,  alas  !  that  date  is  past,  and  I  am  still  alone  in  the 
dwelling  Oi'  the  stranger  !  " 

"Unhappy  child  !  "  muttered  Isabel  to  herself,  "thouknow- 
est  not  his  treason  nor  his  fate — yet  why  shouldstthou  ?  Igno- 
rant of  what  would  render  thee  blest  hereafter,  continue  igno- 
rant of  what  would  afflict  thee  here.  Be  cheered,  maiden," 
answered  the  Queen  aloud.  "  No  doubt  there  are  reasons  suf- 
ficient to  forbid  your  meeting.  But  thou  shalt  not  lack  friends 
in  the  dwelling-house  of  the  stranger." 

"  Ah,  noble  Queen,  pardon  me,  and  one  word  more  !  There 
hath  been  with  me  more  than  once  a  stern  old  man,  whose 
voice  freezes  the  blood  within  my  veins  ;  he  questions  me  of 
my  father,  and  in  the  tone  of  a  foe  who  would  entrap  from  the 
child  something  to  the  peril  of  the  sire.  That  man — thou 
knowest  him,  gracious  Queen — he  cannot  have  the  power  to 
harm  my  father  ?" 

"  Peace,  maiden  !  the  man  thou  speakest  of  is  the  priest  of 
God  ;  and  the  innocent  have  nothing  to  dread  from  his  rev- 
erend zeal.  For  thyself,  I  say  again,  be  cheered  ;  in  the  home 
to  which  I  consign  thee  thou  wilt  see  him  no  more.  Take 
comfort,  poor  child — weep  not :  all  have  their  cares  ;  our  duty 
is  to  bear  in  this  life,  reserving  hope  only  for  the  next." 

The  Queen,  destined  herself  to  those  domestic  afflictions 
which  pomp  cannot  soothe,  nor  power  allay,  spoke  with  a  pro- 
phetic sadness  which  yet  more  touched  a  heart  that  her  kind- 
ness of  look  and  tone  had  already  softened  ;  andin  the  impulse 
of  a  nature  never  tutored  in  the  rigid  ceremonials  of  that  stately 
court,  Leila  suddenly  came  forward,  and,  falling  on  one  knee, 
seized  the  hand  of  her  protectress,  and  kissed  it  warmly  through 
her  tears. 

*'  Are  you,  too,  unhappy  ?"  she  said, — "  I  will  pray  for  you 
to  my  God  !  " 

The  Queen,  surprised  and  moved  at  an  action,  which,  had 
witnesses  been  present,  would  only  perhaps  (for  such  is  human 
nature)  have  offended  her  Castilian  prejudices,  left  her  hand 
in  Leila's  grateful  clasp  ;  and  laying  the  other  upon  the  parted 
and  luxuriant  ringlets  of  the  kneeling  maiden,  said  gently  : 
"  And  thy  prayers  shall  avail  thee  and  me  when  thy  God  and 
mine  are  the  same.  Bless  thee,  maiden  !  I  am  a  mother  ; 
thou  art  motherless — bless  thee  !  " 


74  LEILA. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    TEMPTATION   OF   THE   JEWESS, — IN    WHICH    THE     HISTORIJ 
PASSES    FROM    THE   OUTWARD    TO    THE    INTERNAL. 

It  was  about  the  very  hour,  almost  the  very  moment,  in 
which  Almamen  effected  his  mysterious  escape  from  the  tent 
of  the  Inquisition,  that  the  train  accompanying  the  litter  which 
bore  Leila,  and  which  was  composed  of  some  chosen  soldiers 
of  Isabel's  own  body-guard,  after  traversing  the  camp,  winding 
along  that  part  of  the  mountainous  defile  which  was  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  Spaniards,  and  ascending  a  high  and  steep  accliv- 
ity, halted  before  the  gates  of  a  strongly  fortified  castle 
renowned  in  the  chronicles  of  that  memorable  war.  The  hoarse 
challenge  of  the  sentry,  the  grating  of  jealous  bars,  the  clank 
of  hoofs  upon  the  rough  pavement  of  the  courts,  and  the 
streaming  glare  of  torches  falling  upon  stern  and  bearded  visa- 
ges, and  imparting  a  ruddier  glow,  to  the  moonlit  buttresses  and 
battlements  of  the  fortress,  aroused  Leila  from  a  kind  of  torpor 
rather  than  sleep,  in  which  the  fatigue  and  excitement  of  the 
day  had  steeped  her  senses.  An  old  seneschal  conducted  her, 
through  vast  and  gloomy  halls  (how  unlike  the  brilliant  cham- 
bers and  fantastic  arcades  of  her  Moorish  home  !)  to  a  huge 
Gothic  apartment,  hung  with  the  arras  of  Flemish  looms.  In 
a  few  moments  maidens,  hastily  aroused  from  slumber, 
grouped  around  her  with  a  respect  which  would  certainly  not 
have  been  accorded  had  her  birth  and  creed  been  known. 
They  gazed  with  surprise  at  her  extraordinary  beauty  and 
foreign  garb,  and  evidently  considered  the  new  guest  a 
welcome  addition  to  the  scanty  society  of  the  castle.  Under 
any  other  circumstances,  the  strangeness  of  all  she  saw,  and 
the  frowning  gloom  of  the  chamber  to  which  she  was  consigned, 
would  have  damped  the  spirits  of  one  whose  destiny  had  so 
suddenly  passed  from  the  deepest  quiet  into  the  sternest 
excitement.  But  any  change  was  a  relief  to  the  roar  of  the 
camp,  the  addresses  of  the  Prince,  and  the  ominous  voice 
and  countenance  of  Torquemada  ;  and  Leila  looked  around 
her,  with  the  feeling  that  the  Queen's  promise  was  fulfilled, 
and  that  she  was  already  amidst  the  blessings  of  shelter  and 
repose.  It  was  long,  however,  before  sleep  revisited  her  eye- 
lids, and  when  she  woke  the  noonday  sun  streamed  broadly 
through  the  lattice.  By  the  bedside  sat  a  matron  advanced  in 
years,  but  of  a  mild  and  prepossessing  countenance,  which 
only  borrowed  a  yet  more  attractive  charm  from  an  expression 


LEILA.  75 

of  placid  and  habitual  melancholy.  She  was  robed  in  black  ; 
but  the  rich  pearls  that  were  interwoven  in  the  sleeves  and 
stomacher,  the  jewelled  cross  that  was  appended  from  a  chain 
of  massive  gold,  and,  still  more,  a  certain  air  of  dignity  and 
command,  bespoke,  even  to  the  inexperienced  eye  of  Leila,  the 
evidence  of  superior  station. 

"  Thou  hast  slept  late,  daughter,"  said  the  lady,  with  a 
benevolent  smile  ;  "  may  thy  slumbers  have  refreshed  thee  ! 
Accept  ray  regrets  that  I  knew  not  till  this  morning  of  thine 
arrival,  or  I  should  have  been  the  first  to  welcome  the  charge 
of  my  royal  mistress." 

There  was  in  the  look,  much  more  than  in  the  words,  of  the 
Donna  Inez  de  Quexada,  a  soothing  and  tender  interest  that 
was  as  balm  to  the  heart  of  Leila  ;  in  truth,  she  had  been 
made  the  guest  of,  perhaps,  the  only  lady  in  Spain,  of  pure 
and  Christian  blood,  who  did  not  despise  or  execrate  the  name 
of  Leila's  tribe.  Donna  Inez  had  herself  contracted  to  a  Jew 
a  debt  of  gratitude  which  she  had  sought  to  return  to  the 
whole  race.  Many  years  before  the  time  in  which  our  tale  is 
cast,  her  husband  and  herself  had  been  sojourning  at  Naples, 
then  closely  connected  with  the  politics  of  Spain,  upon  an 
important  state  mission.  They  had  then  an  only  son,  a  youth 
of  a  wild  and  desultory  character,  whom  the  spirit  of  adven- 
ture allured  to  the  East.  In  one  of  those  sultry  lands  the 
young  Quexada  was  saved  from  the  hands  of  robbers  by  the 
caravanserai  of  a  wealthy  traveller.  With  this  stranger  he 
contracted  that  intimacy  which  wandering  and  romantic 
men  often  conceive  for  each  other,  without  any  other  sym- 
pathy than  that  of  the  same  pursuits.  Subsequently,  he  dis- 
covered that  his  companion  was  of  the  Jewish  faith  ;  and, 
Avith  the  usual  prejudice  of  his  birth  and  time,  recoiled  from 
the  friendship  he  had  solicited,  and  shrank  from  the  sense  of 
the  obligation  he  had  incurred  :  he  quitted  his  companion. 
Wearied,  at  length,  with  travel,  he  was  journeying  homeward, 
when  he  was  seized  with  a  sudden  and  virulent  fever,  mis- 
taken for  the  plague  :  all  fled  from  the  contagion  of  the  sup- 
posed pestilence — he  was  left  to  die.  One  man  discovered  his 
condition,  watched,  tended,  and,  skilled  in  the  deeper  secrets 
of  the  healing  art,  restored  him  to  life  and  health  :  it  was  the 
same  Jew  who  had  preserved  him  from  the  robbers.  At  this 
second  and  more  inestimable  obligation,  the  prejudices  of  the 
Spaniard  vanished  :  he  formed  a  deep  and  grateful  attachment 
for  his  preserver ;  they  lived  together  for  some  time,  and  the 
Israelite  finally  accompanied  the  young  Quexada  to  Naples. 


7  6  LEILA. 

Inez  retained  a  lively  sense  of  the  service  rendered  to  her  only 
son  ;  and  the  impression  had  been  increased,  not  only  by  the 
appearance  of  the  Israelite,  which,  dignified  and  stately,  bore 
no  likeness  to  the  cringing  servility  of  his  brethren,  but  also  by 
the  singular  beauty  and  gentle  deportment  of  his  then  newly 
wed  bride,  whom  he  had  wooed  and  won  in  that  holy  land, 
sacred  equally  to  the  faith  of  Christian  and  of  Jew.  The  young 
Quexada  did  not  long  survive  his  return  :  his  constitution  was 
broken  by  long  travel,  and  the  debility  that  followed  his  fierce 
disease.  On  his  death-bed  he  had  besought  the  mother  whom 
he  left  childless,  and  whose  Catholic  prejudices  were  less  stub- 
born than  those  of  his  sire,  never  to  forget  the  services  a  Jew 
had  conferred  upon  him ;  to  make  the  sole  recompense  in  her 
power — the  sole  recompense  the  Jew  himself  had  demanded — 
and  to  lose  no  occasion  to  soothe  or  mitigate  the  miseries  to 
which  the  bigotry  of  the  time  often  exposed  the  oppressed  race 
of  his  deliverer.  Donna  Inez  had  faithfully  kept  the  promise 
she  gave  to  the  last  scion  of  her  house  ;  and  through  the  power 
and  reputation  of  her  husband  and  her  own  connections,  and 
still  more  through  an  early  friendship  with  the  queen,  she  had, 
on  her  return  to  Spain,  been  enabled  to  ward  off  many  a  perse- 
cution, and  many  a  charge  on  false  pretences,  to  which  the 
wealth  of  some  son  of  Israel  made  the  cause,  while  his  faith 
made  the  pretext.  Yet,  with  all  the  natural  feelings  of  a  rigid 
Catholic,  she  had  earnestly  sought  to  render  the  favor  she  had 
thus  obtained  amongst  the  Jews  minister  to  her  pious  zeal  for 
their  more  than  temporal  welfare.  She  had  endeavored,  by 
gentle  means,  to  make  the  conversions  which  force  was  impo- 
tent to  effect ;  and,  in  some  instances,  her  success  had  been 
signal.  The  good  senora  had  thus  obtained  high  renown  for 
sanctity  ;  and  Isabel  thought  rightly,  that  she  could  not  select 
a  protectress  for  Leila  who  would  morekindlyshelter  her  youth, 
or  more  strenuously  labor  for  her  salvation.  It  was,  indeed,  a 
dangerous  situation  for  the  adherence  of  the  maiden  to  that 
faith  which  it  had  caused  her  fiery  father  so  many  sacrifices  to 
preserve  and  to  advance. 

It  was  by  little  and  little  that  Donna  Inez  sought  rather  to 
undermine  than  to  storm  the  mental  fortress,  she  hoped  to  man 
with  spiritual  allies  ;  and  in  her  frequent  conversations  with 
Leila,  she  was  at  once  perplexed  and  astonished  by  the  simple 
and  sublime  nature  of  the  belief  upon  which  she  waged  war. 
For  whether  it  was  that,  in  his  desire  to  preserve  Leila  as  much 
as  possible  from  contact  even  with  Jews  themselves,  whose 
general  character  (vitiated  by  the  oppression  which  engendered 


LEILA.  77 

meanness,  and  the  extortion  which  fostered  avarice)  Almamen 
regarded  with  lofty  though  concealed  repugnance  ;  or  whether 
it  was,  that  his  philosophy  did  not  interpret  the  Jewish  formula 
of  belief  in  the  same  spirit  as  the  herd,  the  religion  inculcated 
in  the  breast  of  Leila  was  different  from  that  which  Inez  had  ever 
before  encountered  amongst  her  proselytes.  It  was  less  mun- 
dane and  material — a  kind  of  passionate  rather  than  metaphys- 
ical theism,  which  invested  the  great  One,  indeed,  with 
many  human  sympathies  and  attributes,  but  still  left  Him  the 
august  and  awful  God  of  the  Genesis,  the  Father  of  a  Universe, 
though  the  individual  Protector  of  a  fallen  sect.  Her  atten- 
tion had  been  less  directed  to  whatever  appears,  to  a  super- 
ficial gaze,  stern  and  inexorable  in  the  character  of  the  Hebrew 
God,  and  which  the  religion  of  Christ  so  beautifully  softened 
and  so  majestically  refined,  than  to  those  passages  in  which 
His  love  watched  over  a  chosen  people,  and  His  forbearance 
bore  with  their  transgressions.  Her  reason  had  been  worked 
upon  to  its  belief  by  that  mysterious  and  solemn  agency,  by 
which — when  the  whole  world  beside  was  bowed  to  the  worship 
of  innumerable  deities,  and  the  adoration  of  graven  images — 
in  a  small  and  secluded  portion  of  earth,  amongst  a  people  far 
less  civilized  and  philosophical  than  many  by  which  they  were 
surrounded,  had  been  alone  preserved  a  pure  and  sublime 
theism,  disdaining  a  likeness  in  the  things  of  heaven  or 
earth.  Leila  knew  little  of  the  more  narrow  and  exclusive 
tenets  of  her  brethren  :  a  Jewess  in  name,  she  was  rather  a 
deist  in  belief  ;  a  deist  of  such  a  creed  as  Athenian  schools 
might  have  taught  to  the  imaginative  pupils  of  Plato,  save  only 
that  too  dark  a  shadow  had  been  cast  over  the  hopes  of 
another  world.  Without  the  absolute  denial  of  the  Sadducee, 
Almamen  had  probably  much  of  the  quiet  skepticism  which 
belonged  to  many  sects  of  the  early  Jews,  and  which  still 
clings  round  the  wisdom  of  the  wisest  who  reject  the  doctrine 
of  Revelation  ;  and  while  he  had  not  sought  to  eradicate  from 
the  breast  of  his  daughter  any  of  the  vague  desire  which  points 
to  a  Hereafter,  he  had  never,  at  least,  directed  her  thoughts  or 
aspirations  to  that  solemn  future.  Nor  in  the  sacred  book 
which  was  given  to  her  survey,  and  which  so  rigidly  upheld 
the  unity  of  the  Supreme  Power,  was  there  that  positive  and 
unequivocal  assurance  of  life  beyond  "  the  grave,  where  all 
things  are  forgotten,"  that  might  supply  the  deficiencies  of  her 
moral  instructor.  Perhaps,  sharing  those  notions  of  the  differ- 
ent value  of  the  sexes  prevalent,  from  the  remotest  period,  in 
his  beloved  and  ancestral  East,  Almamen  might  have  hopes 


^8  LEILA. 

for  himself  which  did  not  extend  to  his  child.  And  thus  she 
grew  up,  with  all  the  beautiful  faculties  of  the  soul  cherished 
and  unfolded,  without  thought,  without  more  than  dim  and 
shadowy  conjectures,  of  the  Eternal  Bourne  to  which  the  sor- 
rowing pilgrim  of  the  earth  is  bound.  It  was  on  this  point 
that  the  quick  eye  of  Donna  Inez  discovered  her  faith  was 
vulnerable  :  who  would  not,  if  belief  were  voluntary,  believe  in 
the  world  to  come  ?  Leila's  curiosity  and  interest  were  aroused: 
she  willingly  listened  to  her  new  guide  ;  she  willingly  inclined 
to  conclusions  pressed  upon  her,  not  with  menace,  but  persua- 
sion. Free  from  the  stubborn  associations,  the  sectarian  prej- 
udices, and  unversed  in  the  peculiar  traditions  and  accounts 
of  the  learned  of  her  race,  she  found  nothing  to  shock  her  in 
the  volume  which  seemed  but  a  continuation  of  the  elder 
writings  of  her  faith.  The  sufferings  of  the  Messiah,  His  sub- 
lime purity.  His  meek  forgiveness,  spoke  to  her  woman's 
heart  ;  His  doctrines  elevated,  while  they  charmed, her  reason: 
and  in  a  Heaven  that  a  Divine  hand  opened  to  all — the  humble 
as  the  proud,  the  oppressed  as  the  oppressor,  to  the  woman  as 
to  the  lords  of  the  earth — she  found  a  haven  for  all  the  doubts 
she  had  known,  and  for  the  despair  which  of  late  had  darkened 
the  face  of  earth.  Her  home  lost,  the  deep  and  beautiful  love 
of  her  youth  blighted — that  was  a  creed  almost  irresistible  which 
told  her  that  grief  was  but  for  a  day,  that  happiness  was  eternal. 
Far,  too,  from  revolting  such  of  the  Hebrew  pride  of  associa- 
tion as  she  had  formed,  the  birth  of  the  Messiah  in  the  land 
of  the  Israelites  seemed  to  consummate  their  peculiar  triumph 
as  the  Elected  of  Jehovah.  And  while  she  mourned  for  the 
Jews  who  persecuted  the  Saviour,  she  gloried  in  those  whose 
belief  had  carried  the  name  and  worship  of  the  descendants  of 
David  over  the  furthest  regions  of  the  world.  Often  she  per- 
plexed and  startled  the  worthy  Inez  by  exclaiming  :  "  This, 
your  belief,  is  the  same  as  mine,  adding  only  the  assurance  of 
immortal  life — Christianity  is  but  the  Revelation  of  Judaism." 
The  wise  and  gentle  instrument  of  Leila's  conversion  did 
not,  however,  give  vent  to  those  more  Catholic  sentiments 
which  might  have  scared  away  the  wings  of  the  descending 
dove.  She  forebore  too  vehemently  to  point  out  the  distinc- 
tions of  the  several  creeds,  and  rather  suffered  them  to  melt 
insensibly  one  into  the  other  :  Leila  was  a  Christian,  while  she 
still  believed  herself  a  Jewess.  But  in  the  fond  and  lovely 
weakness  of  mortal  emotions,  there  was  one  bitter  thought 
that  often  and  often  came  to  mar  the  peace  that  otherwise 
would  have  settled  on  her  soul.     That  father,  the  sole  softener 


LEILA.  ^9 

of  whose  stern  heart  and  mysterious  fate  she  was,  with  what 
pangs  would  he  receive  the  news  of  her  conversion  I  And 
Muza,  that  bright  and  hero-vision  of  her  youth — was  she  not 
setting  tlie  last  seal  of  separation  upon  all  hope  of  union  with 
the  idol  of  the  Moors  ?  But,  alas  !  was  she  not  already  sepa- 
rated from  him,  and  had  not  their  faiths  been  from  the  first  at 
variance?  From  these  thoughts  she  started  with  sighs  and 
tears  ;  and  before  her  stood  the  crucifix  already  admitted  into 
her  chamber,  and — not,  perhaps,  too  wisely — banished  so 
rigidly  from  the  oratories  of  the  Huguenot.  For  the  represen- 
tation of  that  divine  resignation,  that  mortal  agony,  that  mirac- 
ulous sacrifice,  what  eloquence  it  hath  for  our  sorrows  ! 
what  preaching  hath  the  symbol  to  the  vanities  of  our  wishes, 
to  the  yearnings  of  our  discontent  ! 

By  degrees,  as  her  new  faith  grew  confirmed,  Leila  now 
inclined  herself  earnestly  to  those  pictures  of  the  sanctity  and 
calm  of  the  conventual  life  which  Inez  delighted  to  draw.  In 
the  reaction  of  her  thoughts,  and  her  despondency  of  all 
worldly  happiness,  there  seemed,  to  the  young  maiden,  an  inex- 
pressible charm  in  a  solitude  which  was  to  release  her  forever 
from  human  love,  and  render  her  entirely  up  to  sacred  visions 
and  imperishable  hopes.  And  with  this  selfish,  there  mingled  a 
more  generous  and  sublime  sentiment.  The  prayers  of  a  con- 
vert miglit  be  heard  in  favor  of  those  yet  benighted  ;  and  the 
awful  curse  upon  her  outcast  race  be  lightened  by  the  orisons  of 
one  humble  heart.  In  all  ages,  in  all  creeds,  a  strange  and 
mystic  impression  has  existed  of  the  efficacy  of  self-sacrifice  in 
working  the  redemption  even  of  a  whole  people :  this  belief, 
so  strong  in  the  old  orient  and  classic  religions,  was  yet  more 
confirmed  by  Christianity — a  creed  founded  upon  the  grandest 
of  historic  sacrifices  ;  and  the  lofty  doctrine  of  which,  rightly 
understood,  perpetuates  in  the  heart  of  every  believer  the  duty 
of  self-immolation,  as  well  as  faith  in  the  power  of  prayer,  no 
matter  how  great  the  object,  how  mean  the  supplicator.  On 
these  thoughts  Leila  meditated,  till  thoughts  acquired  the 
intensity  of  passions,  and  the  conversion  of  the  Jewess  was 
completed. 

CHAPTER  HI. 

THE    HOUR    AND    THE    MAN. 

It  was  on  the  third  morning  after  the  King  of  Granada,  rec- 
onciled to  his  people,  had  reviewed  his  gallant  army  in  the 
Vivarrambla ;    and  Boabdil,   surrounded   by   his   chiefs   and 


8o  LEILA. 

nobles,  was  planning  a  deliberate  and  decisive  battle,  by 
assault  on  the  Christian  camp,  when  a  scout  suddenly  arrived, 
breathless,  at  the  gates  of  the  palace,  to  communicate  the  un- 
looked-for and  welcome  intelligence  that  Ferdinand  had  in 
the  night  broken  up  his  camp,  and  marched  across  the  moun- 
tains towards  Cordova.  In  fact,  the  outbreak  of  formidable 
conspiracies  had  suddenly  rendered  the  appearance  of  Ferdi- 
nand necessary  elsewhere  ;  and,  his  intrigues  with  Almamen 
frustrated,  he  despaired  of  a  very  speedy  conquest  of  the  city. 
The  Spanish  King  resolved,  therefore,  after  completing  the 
devastation  of  the  Vega,  to  defer  the  formal  and  prolonged 
siege,  which  could  alone  place  Granada  within  his  power,  until 
his  attention  was  no  longer  distracted  to  other  foes,  and  until, 
it  must  be  added,  he  had  replenished  an  exhausted  treasury. 
He  had  formed,  with  Torquemada,  a  vast  and  wide  scheme  of 
persecution,  not  only  against  Jews,  but  against  Christians  whose 
fathers  had  been  of  that  race,  and  who  were  suspected  of  relaps- 
ing into  Judaical  practices.  The  two  schemers  of  this  grand 
design  were  actuated  by  different  motives  ;  the  one  wished  to 
exterminate  the  crime,  the  other  to  sell  forgiveness  for  it.  And 
Torquemada  connived  at  the  griping  avarice  of  the  King  be- 
cause it  served  to  give  to  himself,  and  to  the  infant  Inquisition, 
a  power  and  authority  which  the  Dominican  foresaw  would  be 
soon  greater  even  than  those  of  royalty  itself,  and  which,  he 
imagined,  by  scourging  earth,  would  redound  to  the  interests  of 
Heaven. 

The  strange  disappearance  of  Almamen,  which  was  distorted 
and  exaggerated  by  the  credulity  of  the  Spaniards  into  an 
event  of  the  most  terrific  character,  served  to  complete  the 
chain  of  evidence  against  the  wealthy  Jews,  and  Jew-descended 
Spaniards,  of  Andalusia  ;  and  while,  in  imagination,  the  King 
already  clutched  the  gold  of  their  redemption  here,  the  Domin- 
ican kindled  the  flame  that  was  to  light  them  to  punishment 
hereafter. 

Boabdil  and  his  chiefs  received  the  intelligence  of  the  Span- 
ish retreat  with  a  doubt  which  soon  yielded  to  the  most  tri- 
umphant delight.  Boabdil  at  once  resumed  all  the  energy 
for  which,  though  but  by  fits  and  starts  his  earlier  youth  had 
been  remarkable. 

"  Alia  Achbar  !  God  is  great  !  "  cried  he  ;  "  we  will  not 
remain  here  till  it  suit  the  foe  to  confine  the  eagle  again  to  his 
eyrie.  They  have  left  us — we  will  burst  on  them.  Summon 
our  alfaquis,  we  will  proclaim  a  holy  war  !  The  sovereign  of 
the  last  possessions  of  the  Moors  is  in  the  field.     Not  a  town 


LEILA.  8l 

that  contains  a  Moslem  but  shall  receive  our  summons,  and  we 
will  gather  round  our  standard  all  the  children  of  our  faith  ! " 

"  May  the  King  live  forever  !  "  cried  the  council,  with  one 
voice. 

"  Lose  not  a  moment,"  resumed  Boabdil — "on  to  the  Vivar- 
rambla,  marshal  the  troops — Muza  heads  the  cavalry,  myself  our 
foot.  Ere  the  sun's  shadow  reach  yonder  forest,  our  army  shall 
be  on  its  march." 

The  warriors,  hastily  and  in  joy,  left  the  palace  ;  and  when 
he  was  alone,  Boabdil  again  relapsed  into  his  wonted  irresolu- 
tion. After  striding  to  and  fro  some  minutes  in  anxious 
thought,  he  abruptly  quitted  the  hall  of  council,  and  passed 
into  the  more  private  chambers  of  the  palace,  till  he  came  to  a 
door  strongly  guarded  by  plates  of  iron.  It  yielded  easily, 
however,  to  a  small  key  which  he  carried  in  his  girdle  ;  and 
Boabdil  stood  in  a  small  circular  room,  apparently  without 
other  door  or  outlet ;  but,  after  looking  cautiously  round,  the 
King  touched  a  secret  spring  in  the  wall,  which,  giving  way, 
discovered  a  niche,  in  which  stood  a  small  lamp,  burning  with 
the  purest  naphtha,  and  a  scroll  of  yellow  parchment  covered 
with  strange  letters  and  hieroglyphics.  He  thrust  the  scroll  in 
his  bosom,  took  the  lamp  in  his  hand,  and  pressing  another 
spring  within  the  niche,  the  wall  receded,  and  showed  a  narrow 
and  winding  staircase.  The  King  reclosed  the  entrance,  and 
descended  :  the  stairs  led,  at  last,  into  damp  and  rough  pas- 
sages ;  and  the  murmur  of  waters,  that  reached  his  ear  through 
the  thick  walls,  indicated  the  subterranean  nature  of  the  soil 
through  which  they  were  hewn.  The  lamp  burned  clear  and 
steady  through  the  darkness  of  the  place ;  and  Boabdil  proceeded 
with  such  impatient  rapidity,  that  the  distance  (in  reality,  con- 
siderable) which  he  traversed,  before  he  arrived  at  his  destined 
bourne,  was  quickly  measured.  He  came  at  last  into  a  wide 
cavern,  guarded  by  doors  concealed  and  secret  as  those  which 
had  screened  the  entrance  from  the  upper  air.  He  was  in  one 
of  the  many  vaults  which  made  the  mighty  cemetery  of  the 
monarchs  of  Granada  ;  and  before  him  stood  the  robed  and 
crowned  skeleton,  and  before  him  glowed  the  magic  dial-plate, 
of  which  he  had  spoken  in  his  interview  with  Muza. 

"  Oh,  dread  and  awful  image  !  "  cried  the  King,  throwing 
himself  on  his  knees  before  the  skeleton,  "  shadow  of  what  was 
once  a  king  wise  in  council,  and  terrible  in  war,  if  in  those 
hollow  bones  yet  lurks  the  impalpable  and  unseen  spirit,  hear 
thy  repentant  son.  Forgive,  while  it  is  yet  time,  the  rebellion 
of  his  fiery  youth,  and  suffer  thy  daring  soul  to  animate  the 


82  LEILA. 

doubt  and  weakness  of  his  own,  I  go  forth  to  battle,  waiting 
not  the  signal  thou  didst  ordain.  Let  not  the  penance  for  a 
rashness,  to  which  fate  urges  me  on,  attach  to  my  country,  but 
to  me.  And  if  I  perish  in  the  field,  may  my  evil  destinies  be 
buried  with  me,  and  a  worthier  monarch  redeem  my  errors, 
and  preserve  Granada  !  " 

As  the  King  raised  his  looks,  the  unrelaxed  grin  of  the  grim 
dead,  made  yet  more  hideous  by  the  mockery  of  the  diadem 
and  the  royal  robe,  froze  back  to  ice  the  passion  and  sorrow  at 
his  heart.  He  shuddered,  and  rose  with  a  deep  sigh  ;  when,  as 
his  eyes  mechanically  followed  the  lifted  arm  of  the  skeleton, 
he  beheld,  with  mingled  delight  and  awe,  tlie  hitherto  motionless 
finger  of  the  dial-plate  pass  slowly  on,  and  rest  at  the  word  so 
long  and  so  impatiently  desired.  "Arm!"  cried  the  King, 
"  Do  I  read  aright  ? — are  my  prayers  heard  ? "  A  low  and 
deep  sound,  like  that  of  subterranean  thunder,  boomed  through 
the  chamber ;  and  in  the  same  instant  the  wall  opened,  and 
the  King  beheld  the  long-expected  figure  of  Almamen,  the 
magician.  But  no  longer  was  that  stately  form  clad  in  the 
loose  and  peaceful  garb  of  the  Eastern  santon.  Complete 
armor  cased  his  broad  breast  and  sinewy  limbs  ;  his  head 
alone  was  bare,  and  his  prominent  and  impressive  features  were 
lighted,  not  with  mystical  enthusiasm,  but  with  warlike  energy. 
In  his  right  hand  he  carried  a  drawn  sword,  his  left  supported 
the  staff  of  a  snow-white  and  dazzling  banner. 

So  sudden  was  the  apparition,  and  so  excited  the  mind  of 
the  King,  that  the  sight  of  a  supernatural  being  could  scarcely 
have  impressed  him  with  more  amaze  and  awe. 

"  King  of  Granada,"  said  Almamen,  "  the  hour  hath  come  at 
last :  go  forth  and  conquer!  With  the  Christian  monarch  there 
is  no  hope  of  peace  or  compact.  At  thy  request  I  sought  him, 
but  my  spells  alone  preserved  the  life  of  thy  herald.  Rejoice  ! 
for  thine  evil  destinies  have  rolled  away  from  thy  spirit,  like  a 
cloud  from  the  glory  of  the  sun.  The  genii  of  the  East  have 
woven  this  banner  from  the  rays  of  benignant  stiirs.  It  shall 
beam  before  thee  in  the  front  of  battle — it  shall  rise  over  the 
rivers  of  Christian  blood.  As  the  moon  sways  the  bosom  of  the 
tides,  it  shall  sway  and  direct  the  surges  and  the  course  of  war!  " 

"  Man  of  mystery  !  thou  hast  given  me  a  new  life." 

"  And,  fighting  by  thy  side,"  resumed  Almamen,  "  I  will 
assist  to  carve  out  for  thee,  from  the  ruins  of  Arragon  and 
Castile,  the  grandeur  of  a  new  throne.  Arm,  monarch  of 
Granada  ! — arm  !  I  hear  the  neigh  of  thy  charger,  in  the 
midst  of  the  mailed  thousands  !     Arm  !  " 


LCILA  83 

BOOK  IV. 

CHAPTER  I. 

LEILA    IN    THE   CASTLE. — THE    SFEGE. 

The  calmer  contemplations,  and  more  holy  anxieties,  of 
Leila  were,  at  length,  broken  in  upon  by  intelligence,  the  fear- 
ful interest  of  which  absorbed  the  whole  mind  and  care  of 
every  inhabitant  of  the  castle.  Boabdil  el  Chico  had  taken  the 
field,  at  the  head  of  a  numerous  army.  Rapidly  scouring  the 
country,  he  had  descended,  one  after  one,  upon  the  principal 
fortresses  which  Ferdinand  had  left,  strongly  garrisoned,  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood.  His  success  was  as  immediate 
as  it  was  signal  ;  the  terror  of  his  anus  began,  once  more,  to 
spread  far  and  wide  ;  every  day  swelled  his  ranks  with  new 
recruits  ;  from  the  snow-clad  summits  of  the  Sierra  Nevada 
poured  down,  in  wild  hordes,  the  fierce  mountain  race,  who, 
accustomed  to  eternal  winter,  made  a  strange  contrast,  in  their 
rugged  appearance  and  shaggy  clothing,  to  the  glittering  and 
civilized  soldiery  of  Granada. 

Moorish  towns,  which  had  submitted  to  Ferdinand,  broke 
from  their  allegiance,  and  sent  their  ardent  youth  and  experi- 
enced veterans  to  the  standard  of  the  Keys  and  Crescent.  To 
add  to  the  sudden  panic  of  the  Spaniards,  it  went  forth  that  a 
formidable  magician,  who  seemed  inspired  rather  with  the  fury 
of  a  demon  than  the  valor  of  a  man,  had  made  an  abrupt  ap- 
pearance in  the  ranks  of  the  Moslems.  Wherever  the  Moors 
shrunk  back  from  wall  or  tower,  down  which  poured  the  boil- 
ing pitch,  or  rolled  the  deadly  artillery  of  the  besieged,  this 
sorcerer,  rushing  into  the  midst  of  the  flagging  force,  and  wav- 
ing, with  wild  gestures,  a  white  banner,  supposed,  by  both 
Moor  and  Christian,  to  be  the  work  of  magic  and  preternatural 
spells,  dared  every  danger,  and  escaped  every  weapon  :  with 
voice,  with  prayer,  with  example,  he  fired  the  Moors  to  an 
enthusiasm  that  revived  the  first  days  of  Mahometan  conquest ; 
and  tower  after  tower,  along  the  mighty  range  of  the  mountain 
chain  of  fortresses,  was  polluted  by  the  wave  and  glitter  of  the 
ever-victorious  banner.  The  veteran,  Mendo  de  Quexada, 
who,  with  a  garrison  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  men,  held  the 
castle  of  Alhendin,  was,  however,  undaunted  by  the  unprec- 
edented  successes   of   Boabdil.      Aware  of    the   approaching 


84  LEILA. 

Storm,  he  spent  the  days  of  peace  yet  accorded  to  him  in  mak- 
ing every  preparation  for  the  siege  that  he  foresaw  ;  messen- 
gers were  dispatched  to  Ferdinand  ;  new  outworks  were  added 
to  the  castle  ;  ample  store  of  provisions  laid  in  ;  and  no  pre- 
caution omitted  that  could  still  preserve  to  the  Spaniards  a 
fortress  that,  from  its  vicinity  to  Granada,  its  command  of  the 
Vega  and  the  valleys  of  the  Alpuxarras,  was  the  bitterest  thorn 
in  the  side  of  the  Moorish  power. 

It  was  early  one  morning  that  Leila  stood  by  the  lattice  of 
her  lofty  chamber,  gazing  with  many  and  mingled  emotions, 
on  the  distant  domes  of  Granada,  as  they  slept  in  the  silent 
sunshine.  Her  heart,  for  the  moment,  was  busy  with  the 
thoughts  of  home,  and  the  chances  and  peril  of  the  time  were 
forgotten. 

The  sound  of  martial  music,  afar  off,  broke  upon  her 
reveries ;  she  started,  and  listened  breathlessly  ;  it  became 
more  distinct  and  clear.  The  clash  of  the  zell,  the  boom  of 
the  African  drum,  and  the  wild  and  barbarous  blast  of  the 
Moorish  clarion,  were  now  each  distinguishable  from  the  other  ; 
and,  at  length,  as  she  gazed  and  listened,  winding  along  the 
steeps  of  the  mountain  were  seen  the  gleaming  spears  and 
pennants  of  the  Moslem  vanguard.  Another  moment,  and  the 
whole  castle  was  astir. 

Mendo  de  Quexada,  hastily  arming,  repaired  himself  to  the 
battlements  ;  and,  from  her  lattice,  Leila  beheld  him  from  time 
to  time,  stationing  to  the  best  advantage  his  scanty  troops.  In 
a  few  minutes  she  was  joined  by  Donna  Inez  and  the  women 
of  the  castle,  who  fearfully  clustered  round  their  mistress — not 
the  less  disposed,  however,  to  gratify  the  passion  of  the  sex,  by 
a  glimpse  through  the  lattice  at  the  gorgeous  array  of  the 
Moorish  army. 

The  casements  of  Leila's  chamber  were  peculiarly  adapted  to 
command  a  safe  nor  insufficient  view  of  the  progress  of  the 
enemy  !  and,  with  a  beating  heart  and  flushing  cheek,  the 
Jewish  maiden,  deaf  to  the  voices  around  her,  imagined  she 
could  already  descry,  amidst  the  horsemen,  the  lion  port  and 
snowy  garments  of  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan. 

What  a  situation  was  hers  !  Already  a  Christian,  could  she 
hope  for  the  success  of  the  infidel?  Ever  a  woman,  could  she 
hope  for  the  defeat  of  her  lover  ?  But  the  time  for  meditation 
on  her  destiny  was  but  brief  ;  the  detachment  of  the  Moorish 
cavalry  was  now  just  without  the  walls  of  the  little  town  that 
girded  the  castle,  and  the  loud  clarion  of  the  heralds  sum- 
moned the  garrison  to  surrender, 


LEILA.  S$ 

"  Not  while  one  stone  stands  upon  another !  "  was  the  short 
answer  of  Quexada  ;  and  in  ten  minutes  afterwards  the  sullen 
roar  of  the  artillery  broke  from  wall  and  tower  over  the  vales 
below. 

It  was  then  that  the  women,  from  Leila's  lattice,  beheld, 
slowly  marshalling  themselves  in  order,  the  whole  power  and 
pageantry  of  the  besieging  army.  Thick — serried — line  after 
line,  column  upon  column — they  spread  below  the  frowning 
steep.  The  sunbeams  lighted  up  that  goodly  array,  as  it  swayed 
and  murmured,  and  advanced  like  the  billows  of  a  glittering 
sea.  The  royal  standard  was  soon  descried  waving  above  the 
pavilion  of  Boabdil ;  and  the  King  himself,  mounted  on  his 
cream-colored  charger,  which  was  covered  with  trappings  of 
cloth  of-gold,  was  recognized  amongst  the  infantry,  whose  task 
it  was  to  lead  the  assault. 

"  Pray  with  us,  my  daughter !  "  cried  Inez,  falling  on  her 
knees.     Alas  !  what  could  Leila  pray  for  ? 

Four  days  and  four  nights  passed  away  in  that  memorable 
siege  ;  for  the  moon,  then  at  her  full,  allowed  no  respite,  even 
in  night  itself.  Their  numbers,  and  their  vicinity  to  Granada, 
gave  the  besiegers  the  advantage  of  constant  relays,  and  troop 
succeeded  to  troop  ;  so  that  the  weary  had  ever  successors  in 
the  vigor  of  new  assailants. 

On  the  fifth  day  all  of  the  fortress,  save  the  keep  (an  im- 
mense tower),  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Moslems  ;  and  in  this 
last  hold,  the  worn-out  and  scanty  remnant  of  the  garrison 
mustered  in  the  last  hope  of  a  brave  despair. 

Quexada  appeared,  covered  with  gore  and  dust — his  eyes 
bloodshot,  his  cheek  haggard  and  hollow,  his  locks  blanched 
with  sudden  age — in  the  hall  of  the  tower,  where  the  women, 
half  dead  with  terror,  were  assembled. 

*'  Food  !  "  cried  he — "food  and  wine  !  It  may  be  our  last 
banquet." 

His  wife  threw  her  arms  around  him.  "  Not  yet,"  he  cried, 
"  not  yet  ;  we  will  have  one  embrace  before  we  part." 

"  Is  there,  then,  no  hope  ?"  said  Inez,  with  a  pale  cheek,  yet 
steady  eye. 

"  None  ;  unless  to-morrow's  dawn  gild  the  spears  of  Ferdi- 
nand's army  upon  yonder  hills.  Till  morn  we  may  hold  out." 
As  he  spoke,  he  hastily  devoured  some  morsels  of  food, 
drained  a  huge  goblet  of  wine,  and  abruptly  quitted  the 
chamber. 

At  that  moment,  the  women  distinctly  heard  the  loud  shouts 
of  the  Moors  ;  and  Leila,  approaching  the  grated  casement, 


86-  LEILA. 

could  perceive  the  approach  of  what  seemed  to  her  like  moving 
walls. 

Covered  by  ingenious  constructions  of  wood  and  thick  hides, 
the  besiegers  advanced  to  the  foot  of  the  tower  in  comparative 
shelter  from  the  burning  streams  which  still  poured,  fast  and 
seething,  from  the  battlements ;  while,  in  the  rear,  came 
showers  of  darts  and  cross-bolls  from  the  more  distant  Moors, 
protecting  the  work  of  the  engineer,  and  piercing  through 
almost  every  loophole  and  crevice  in  the  fortress. 

Meanwhile,  the  stalwart  governor  beheld,  with  dismay  and 
despair,  the  preparations  of  the  engineers,  whom  the  wooden 
screen-works  protected  from  every  weapon. 

"  By  the  holy  Sepulchre  !  "  cried  he,  gnashing  his  teeth,  "  they 
are  mining  the  tower,  and  we  shall  be  buried  in  its  ruins  ! 
Look  out,  Gonsalvo  !  See  you  not  a  gleam  of  spears,  yonder, 
over  the  mountain  ?     Mine  eyes  are  dim  with  watching." 

"  Alas  !  brave  Mendo,  it  is  only  the  sloping  sun  upon  the 
snows — but  there  is  hope  yet." 

The  soldier's  words  terminated  in  a  shrill  and  sudden  cry  of 
agony ;  and  he  fell  dead  by  the  side  of  Quexada,  the  brain 
crushed  by  a  bolt  from  a  Moorish  arquebus. 

**  My  best  warrior  !  "  said  Quexada  ;  "  peace  be  with  him  ! 
Ho,  there  !  see  you  yon  desperate  infidel  urging  on  the  miners  ? 
By  the  heavens  above,  it  is  he  of  the  white  banner  ! — it  is  the 
sorcerer  !  Fire  on  him  !  he  is  without  the  shelter  of  the  wood- 
works." 

Twenty  shafts,  from  wearied  and  nerveless  arms,  fell  innocu- 
ous round  the  form  of  Almamen  :  and  as,  waving  aloft  his 
ominous  banner,  he  disappeared  again  behind  the  screen- 
works,  the  Spaniards  almost  fancied  they  could  hear  his  exult- 
ing and  demon  laugh. 

The  sixth  day  came,  and  the  work  of  the  enemy  was  com- 
pleted. The  tower  was  entirely  undermined — the  foundations 
rested  only  upon  wooden  props,  which,  with  a  humanity  that  was 
characteristic  of  Boabdil,  had  been  placed  there  in  order  that 
the  besieged  might  escape  ere  the  final  crash  of  their  last  hold. 

It  was  now  noon  :  the  whole  Moorish  force,  quitting  the 
plain,  occupied  the  steep  that  spread  below  the  tower,  in  multi- 
tudinous array  and  breathless  expectation.  The  miners  stood 
aloof — the  Spaniards  lay  prostrate  and  exhausted  upon  the 
battlements,  like  mariners,  who,  after  every  effort  against  the 
storm,  await,  resigned,  and  almost  indifferent,  the  sweep  of 
the  fatal  urge. 
^Suddenly  the  lines  of  the  Moors  gave  way,  and  Boabdil  him- 


LEILA'.  8) 

self,  with  Muza  at  his  right  hand,  and  Almamen  on  his  left, 
advanced  towards  the  foot  of  the  tower.  At  the  same  time, 
the  Ethiopian  guards,  each  bearing  a  torch,  marched  slowly  in 
the  rear  ;  and  from  the  midst  of  tliem  paced  the  royal  herald, 
and  sounded  the  last  warning.  The  hush  of  the  immense 
armament — the  glare  of  the  torches,  lighting  the  ebon  faces 
and  giant  forms  of  their  bearers — the  majestic  appearance  of 
the  King  himself — the  heroic  aspect  of  Muza — the  bare  head 
and  glittering  banner  of  Almamen — all  combined  with  the 
circumstances  of  the  time  to  invest  the  spectacle  with  some- 
thing singularly  awful,  and  perhaps  sublime. 

Quexada  turned  his  eyes  mutely  round  the  ghastly  faces  of 
his  warriors,  and  still  made  not  the  signal.  His  lips  muttered, 
his  eyes  glared  :  when,  suddenly,  he  heard  below  tlie  wail  of 
women  ;  and  the  thought  of  Inez,  the  bride  of  his  youth,  the 
partner  of  his  age,  came  upon  him  ;  and  with  a  trembling 
hand  he  lowered  the  yet  unquailing  standard  of  Spain.  Then 
the  silence  below  broke  into  a  mighty  sliout,  which  shook  the 
grim  tower  to  its  unsteady  and  temporary  base. 

"Arise,  my  friends,"  he  said,  with  a  bitter  sigh  ;  "we  have 
fought  like  men — and  our  country  will  not  blush  for  us." 

He  descended  the  winding  stairs  ;  his  soldiers  followed  hira 
with  faltering  steps  :  the  gates  of  the  keep  unfolded,  and  these 
gallant  Christians  surrendered  themselves  to  the  Moor. 

"  Do  with  us  as  you  will,"  said  Quexada,  as  he  laid  the  keys 
at  the  hoofs  of  Boabdil's  barb  ;  "  but  there  are  women  in  the 
garrison,  who — " 

"  Are  sacred,"  interrupted  the  King.  "  At  once  we  accord 
their  liberty,  and  free  transport  whithersoever  ye  would 
desire.  Speak  then  !  To  what  place  of  safety  shall  they  be 
conducted?" 

"  Generous  King  !  "  replied  the  veteran  Quexada,  brushing 
away  his  tears  with  the  back  of  his  hand  ;  "you  take  the  sting 
from  our  shame.  We  accept  your  offer,  in  the  same  spirit  in 
which  it  is  made.  Across  the  mountains,  on  the  verge  of  the 
plain  of  Olfadez,  I  possess  a  small  castle,  ungarrisoned  and 
unfortified.  Thence,  should  the  war  take  that  direction,  the 
women  can  readily  obtain  safe  conduct  to  the  Queen,  at 
Cordova." 

"  Be  it  so,"  returned  Boabdil.  Then,  with  Oriental  delicacy, 
selecting  the  eldest  of  the  officers  round  him,  he  gave  him 
instructions  to  enter  the  castle,  and,  with  a  strong  guard,  pro- 
vide for  the  safety  of  the  women,  according  to  the  directions 
of  Quexada.      To  another  of  his    officers   he   confided   the 


9S  LCILA. 

Spanish  prisoners,  and  gave  the  signal  to  his  army  to  withdraw 
from  the  spot,  leaving  only  a  small  body  to  complete  the  ruin 
of  the  fortress. 

Accompanied  by  Almamen  and  his  principal  officers,  Boab- 
dil  now  hastened  towards  Granada  ;  and  while,  with  slower 
progress,  Quexada  and  his  companions,  under  a  strong  escort, 
took  their  way  across  the  Vega,  a  sudden  turn  in  their  course 
brought  abruptly  before  them  the  tower  they  had  so  valiantly 
defended.  There  it  still  stood,  proud  and  stern,  amidst  the 
blackened  and  broken  wrecks  around  it,  shooting  aloft, 
dark  and  grim,  against  the  sky.  Another  moment,  and  a 
mighty  crash  sounded  on  their  ears,  while  the  tower  fell  to  the 
earth,  amidst  volumes  of  wreathing  smoke  and  showers  of  dust, 
which  were  borne,  by  the  concussion,  to  the  spot  on  which 
they  took  their  last  gaze  of  the  proudest  fortress  on  which  the 
Moors  of  Granada  had  beheld,  from  their  own  walls,  the 
standard  of  Arragon  and  Castile. 

At  the  same  time,  Leila,  thus  brought  so  strangely  within  the 
very  reach  of  her  father  and  her  lover,  and  yet,  by  a  mysteri- 
ous fate,  still  divided  from  both — with  Donna  Inez,  and  the 
rest  of  the  females  of  the  garrison,  pursued  her  melancholy 
path  along  the  ridges  of  the  mountains. 


CHAPTER  II. 

ALMAMEN's  PROPOSED  ENTERPRISE. THE  THREE  ISRAELITES. 

CIRCUMSTANCE    IMPRESSES   EACH  CHARACTER    WITH    A  VARY- 
ING  DIE. 

BoABDiL  followed  up  his  late  success  with  a  series  of  bril- 
liant assaults  on  the  neighboring  fortresses.  Granada,  like  a 
strong  man  bowed  to  the  ground,  wrenched,  one  after  one,  the 
bands  that  crippled  her  liberty  and  strength  ;  and,  at  length, 
after  regaining  a  considerable  portion  of  the  surrounding  ter- 
ritory, the  King  resolved  to  lay  siege  to  the  seaport  of  Salo- 
brena.  Could  he  obtain  this  town,  Boabdil,  by  establishing 
communication  between  the  sea  and  Granada,  would  both  be 
enabled  to  avail  himself  of  the  assistance  of  his  African  allies, 
and  also  prevent  the  Spaniards  from  cutting  off  supplies  to  the 
city,  should  they  again  besiege  it.  Thither,  then,  accompanied 
by  Muza,  the  Moorish  King  bore  his  victorious  standard. 

On  the  eve  of  his  departure,  Almamen  sought  the  King's 
presence.  A  great  change  had  come  over  the  santon  since 
the  departure  of  Ferdinand  :  his  wonted  stateliness  of  mien 


LEILA.  89 

was  gone  ;  his  eyes  were  sunk  and  hollow  ;  his  manner 
disturbed  and  absent.  In  fact  his  love  for  his  daughter 
made  the  sole  softness  of  his  character  ;  and  that  daughter 
was  in  the  hands  of  the  King  who  had  sentenced  the  father  to 
the  tortures  of  the  Inquisition  !  To  what  dangers  might  she 
not  be  subjected  by  the  intolerant  zeal  of  conversion!  And 
could  that  frame,  and  gentle  heart,  brave  the  terrific  engines 
that  might  be  brought  against  her  fears?  " Better,"  thought 
he,  "  that  she  should  perish,  even  by  the  torture,  than  adopt 
that  hated  faith."  He  gnashed  his  teeth  in  agony  at  either 
alternative.  His  dreams,  his  objects,  his  revenge,  his  ambition — 
all  forsook  him  :  one  single  hope,  one  thought,  completely 
mastered  his  stormy  passions  and  fitful  intellect. 

In  this  mood  the  pretended  santon  met  Boabdil.  He  repre- 
sented to  the  King,  over  whom  his  influence  had  prodigiously 
increased  since  the  late  victories  of  the  Moors,  the  necessity  of 
employing  the  armies  of  Ferdinand  at  a  distance.  He  pro- 
posed, in  furtherance  of  this  policy,  to  venture  himself  in  Cor- 
dova ;  to  endeavor  secretly  to  stir  up  those  Moors  in  that,  their 
ancient  kingdom,  who  had  succumbed  to  the  Spanish  yoke, 
and  whose  hopes  might  naturally  be  inflamed  by  the  recent 
successes  of  Boabdil;  and,  at  least,  to  foment  such  disturb- 
ances as  might  afford  the  King  sufficient  time  to  complete  his 
designs,  and  recruit  his  force  by  aid  of  the  powers  with  which 
he  was  in  league. 

The  representations  of  Almamen  at  length  conquered  Boab- 
dil's  reluctance  to  part  with  his  sacred  guide  ;  and  it  was  finally 
arranged  that  the  Israelite  should  at  once  depart  from  the 
city. 

As  Almamen  pursued  homeward  his  solitary  way,  he  found 
himself  suddenly  accosted  in  the  Hebrew  tongue.  He  turned 
hastily,  and  saw  before  him  an  old  man  in  the  Jewish  gown  ; 
he  recognized  Elias,  one  of  the  wealthiest  and  most  eminent  of 
the  race  of  Israel. 

"  Pardon  me,  wise  countryman  ! "  said  the  Jew,  bowing  to 
the  earth,  "but  I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of  claiming 
kindred  with  one,  through  whom  the  horn  of  Israel  may  be  so 
triumphantly  exalted." 

"  Hush,  man  !  "  said  Almamen  quickly,  and  looking  sharply 
round  ;  "  I  thy  countryman  !  Art  thou  not,  as  thy  speech 
betokens,  an  Israelite  ?  " 

"Yea,"  returned  the  Jew,  "and  of  the  same  tribe  as  thy  hon- 
ored father — peace  be  with  his  ashes  !  I  remembered  thee  at 
once,  boy  though  thou  wert  when  thy  steps  shook  off  the  dust 


90  LEILA 

against  Granada.  I  remenribered  thee,  I  say,  at  once,  on  thy^ 
return  ;  but  I  have  kept  thy  secret,  trusting  that,  through  thy 
soul  and  genius,  thy  fallen  brethren  might  put  off  sackcloth  and 
feast  upon  the  housetops." 

Almamen  looked  hard  at  the  keen,  sharp,  Arab  features  of 
the  Jew  ;  and,  at  length,  he  answered  :  "  And  how  can  Israel 
^e  restored  ?     Wilt  thou  fight  for  her  ?  " 

"  I  am  too  old,  son  of  Issachar,  to  bear  arms  ;  but  our  tribes 
are  many,  and  our  youth  strong.  Amid  these  disturbances  be- 
tween dog  and  dog — " 

"The  lion  may  get  his  own,"  interrupted  Almamen  impet- 
uously,— "  let  us  hope  it.  Hast  thou  heard  of  the  new  perse- 
cutions against  us,  that  the  false  Nazarene  King  has  already 
commenced  in  Cordova — persecutions  that  make  the  heart  sick 
and  the  blood  cold?" 

"Alas  !  "  rejjlied  Elias,  "such  woes,  indeed,  have  not  failed 
to  reach  mine  ear  ;  and  I  have  kindred,  near  and  beloved  kin- 
dred, wealthy  and  honored  men,  scattered  throughout  that 
land." 

"  Were  it  not  better  that  they  should  die  on  the  field  than  by 
the  rack  ?  "  exclaimed  Almamen  fiercely.  "  God  of  my  fathers  ! 
if  there  be  yet  a  spark  of  manhood  left  amongst  Thy  people,  let 
Thy  servant  fan  it  to  a  flame,  that  shall  burn  as  the  fire  burns 
the  stubble,  so  that  the  earth  may  bare  before  the  blaze  !  " 

"  Nay,"  said  Elias,  dismayed  rather  than  excited  by  the 
vehemence  of  his  comrade,  "be  not  rash,  son  of  Issachar,  be 
not  rash  :  peradventure  thou  wilt  but  exasperate  the  wrath  of 
the  rulers,  and  our  substance  thereby  will  be  utterly  con-, 
sumed." 

Almamen  drew  back,  placed  his  hand  quietly  on  the  Jew's 
shoulder,  looked  him  hard  in  the  face,  and,  gently  laughing, 
turned  away. 

Elias  did  not  attempt  to  arrest  his  steps.  "  Impracticable," 
he  muttered — "impracticable  and  dangerous  !  I  always  thought 
so.  He  may  do  us  harm  :  were  he  not  so  strong  and  fierce,  I 
would  put  my  knife  under  his  left  rib.  Verily,  gold  is  a  great 
thing  ;  and — out  on  me  !  the  knaves  at  home  will  be  wasting 
the  oil,  now  they  know  old  Elias  is  abroad."  Thereat  the  Jew 
drew  his  cloak  round  him,  and  quickened  his  pace. 

Almamen,  in  the  mean  while,  sought,  through  dark  and  sub- 
terranean passages,  known  only  to  himself,  his  accustomed 
home.  He  passed  much  of  the  night  alone  ;  but  ere  the  morn- 
ing star  announced  to  the  mountain  tops  the  presence  of  the 
sun,  he  stood,  prepared  for  his  journey,  in  his  secret  vault,  by 


LEILA, 


9« 


tlie  door  of  the  subterranean  passages,  with  old  Ximen  beside 
him. 

"  I  go,  Ximen,"  said  Almamen,  "  upon  a  doubtful  quest  : 
whether  1  discover  my  daughter,  and  succeed  in  bearing  her 
in  safety  from  their  contaminating  grasp,  or  whether  I  fall  into 
their  snares  and  perish,  there  is  an  equal  chance  that  I  may  re- 
turn no  more  to  Granada,  Should  this  be  so,  you  will  be  heir 
to  such  wealth  as  I  leave  in  these  places  ;  I  know  that  your  age 
will  be  consoled  for  the  lack  of  children,  when  your  eyes  look 
upon  the  laugh  of  gold." 

Ximen  bowed  low,  and  mumbled  out  some  inaudible  protes- 
tations and  thanks.  Almamen  sighed  heavily  as  he  looked 
round  the  room.  "  I  have  evil  omens  in  my  soul,  and  evil 
prophecies  in  my  books,"  said  he  mournfully.  "  But  the  worst 
is  here,"  he  added,  putting  his  finger  significantly  to  his  tem- 
ples ;  "  the  string  is  stretched — one  more  blow  would  snap  it." 

As  he  thus  said,  he  opened  the  door,  and  vanished  through 
that  labyrinth  of  galleries,  by  which  he  was  enabled  at  all 
times  to  reach  unobserved  either  the  palace  of  the  Alhambra,  or 
the  gardens  without  the  gates  of  the  city.  Ximen  remained  be- 
hind a  few  moments,  in  deep  thought.  "  All  mine  if  he  dies  ! " 
said  he  :  "  all  mine  if  he  does  not  return  !  All  mine,  all  mine ! 
and  I  have  not  a  child  nor  a  kinsman  in  the  world  to  clutch  it 
away  from  me  ! "  With  that  he  locked  the  vault,  and  returned 
to  the  upper  air. 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE    FUGITIVE    AND    THE   MEETING. 

In  their  different  directions  the  rival  kings  were  equally  suc- 
cessful. Salobrena,  but  lately  conquered  by  the  Christians, 
was  thrown  into  a  commotion  by  the  first  glimpse  of  Boabdil's 
banners  ;  the  populace  rose,  beat  back  their  Christian  guards, 
and  opened  the  gates  to  the  last  of  their  race  of  kings.  The 
garrison  alone,  to  which  the  Spaniards  retreated,  resisted  Boab- 
dil's arms  ;  and,  defended  by  impregnable  walls,  promised  an 
obstinate  and  bloody  siege. 

Meanwhile  Ferdinand  had  no  sooner  entered  Cordova  than 
his  extensive  scheme  of  confiscation  and  holy  persecution  com- 
menced. Not  only  did  more  than  five  kundred  Jews  perish  in 
the  dark  and  secret  gripe  of  the  Grand  Inquisitor,  but  several 
hundred  of  the  wealthiest  Christian  families,  in  whose  blood 
was  detected  the  hereditary  Jewish  taint,  were  thrown  into 
prison  ;  and  such  as  were  most  fortunate  purchased  life  by  the 


92  LEILA 

sacrifice  of  half  their  treasures.  At  this  time,  however,  there 
suddenly  broke  forth  a  formidable  insurrection  amongst  these 
miserable  subjects — the  Messenians  of  the  Iberian  Sparta.  The 
Jews  were  so  far  aroused  from  their  long  debasement  by  om- 
nipotent despair,  that  a  single  spark,  falling  on  the  ashes  of 
their  ancient  spirit,  rekindled  the  flame  of  the  descendants  of 
the  fierce  warriors  of  Palestine.  They  were  encouraged  and 
assisted  by  the  suspected  Christians,  who  had  been  involved  in 
the  same  persecution  ;  and  the  whole  were  headed  by  a  man 
who  appeared  suddenly  amongst  them,  and  whose  fiery  elo- 
quence and  martial  spirit  produced,  at  such  a  season,  the  most 
fervent  enthusiasm.  Unhappily,  the  whole  details  of  this  sin- 
gular outbreak  are  withheld  from  us  ;  only  by  wary  hints  and 
guarded  allusions  do  the  Spanish  chroniclers  apprise  us  of  its 
existence  and  its  perils.  It  is  clear  that  all  narrative  of  an 
event,  that  might  afford  the  most  dangerous  precedents,  and 
was  alarming  to  the  pride  and  avarice  of  the  Spanish  King,  as 
well  as  the  pious  zeal  of  the  Church,  was  strictly  forbidden  ; 
and  the  conspiracy  was  hushed  in  the  dread  silence  of  the 
Inquisition,  into  whose  hands  the  principal  conspirators  ulti- 
mately fell.  We  learn,  only,  that  a  determined  and  sanguinary 
struggle  was  followed  by  the  triumph  of  Ferdinand,  and  the 
complete  extinction  of  the  treason. 

It  was  one  evening  that  a  solitary  fugitive,  hard  chased  by 
an  armed  troop  of  the  brothers  of  St.  Hermandad,  was  seen 
emerging  from  a  wild  and  rocky  defile,  which  opened  abruptly 
on  the  gardens  of  a  small  and,  by  the  absence  of  fortification 
and  sentries,  seemingly  deserted,  castle.  Behind  him  in  the 
exceeding  stillness  which  characterizes  the  air  of  a  Spanish 
twilight,  he  heard,  at  a  considerable  distance,  the  blast  of  the 
horn  and  the  tramp  of  hoofs.  His  pursuers,  divided  into  sev- 
eral detachments,  were  scouring  the  country  after  him,  as  the 
fishermen  draw  their  nets,  from  bank  to  bank,  conscious  that 
the  prey  they  drive  before  the  meshes  cannot  escape  them  at 
the  last.  The  fugitive  halted  in  doubt,  and  gazed  round  him  : 
he  was  well-nigh  exhausted ;  his  eyes  were  bloodshot ;  the 
large  drops  rolled  fast  down  his  brow ;  his  whole  frame  quiv- 
ered and  palpitated,  like  that  of  a  stag  when  he  stands  at  bay. 
Beyond  the  castle  spread  a  broad  plain,  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  without  shrub  or  hollow  to  conceal  his  form :  flight 
across  a  space  so  favorable  to  his  pursuers  was  evidently  in 
vain.  No  alternative  was  left,  unless  he  turned  back  on  the 
very  path  taken  by  the  horsemen,  or  trusted  to  such  scanty  and 
perilous  shelter  as  the  copses  in  the  castle  garden  might  afford 


LEtLA.  <J3 

him.  He  decided  on  the  latter  refuge,  cleared  the  low  and 
lonely  wall  that  girded  the  demesne,  and  plunged  into  a  thicket 
of  overhanging  oaks  and  chestnuts. 

At  that  hour,  and  in  that  garden,  by  the  side  of  a  little  foun- 
tain, were  seated  two  females  :  the  one  of  mature  and  some- 
what advanced  years  ;  the  other,  in  the  flower  of  virgin  youth. 
But  the  flower  was  prematurely  faded  ;  and  neither  the  bloom, 
nor  sparkle,  nor  undulating  play  of  feature,  that  should  have 
suited  her  age,  was  visible  in  the  marble  paleness  and  contem- 
plative sadness  of  her  beautiful  countenance. 

"Alas  !  my  young  friend,"  said  the  elder  of  these  ladies,  "it 
is  in  these  hours  of  solitude  and  calm  that  we  are  most  deeply 
impressed  with  the  nothingness  of  life.  Thou,  my  sweet  con- 
vert, art  now  the  object,  no  longer  of  my  compassion,  but  my 
envy ;  and  earnestly  do  I  feel  convinced  of  the  blessed  repose 
thy  spirit  will  enjoy  in  the  lap  of  the  Mother  Church.  Happy 
are  they  who  die  young  ;  but  thrice  happy  they  who  die  in  the 
spirit  rather  than  the  flesh  :  dead  to  sin,  but  not  to  virtue  ;  to 
terror,  not  to  hope  ;  to  man,  but  not  to  God  ! " 

"  Dear  senora,"  replied  the  young  maiden  mournfully, "  were 
I  alone  on  earth.  Heaven  is  my  witness  with  what  deep  and 
thankful  resignation  I  should  take  the  holy  vows,  and  forswear 
the  past :  but  the  heart  remains  human,  however  divine  the 
hope  that  it  may  cherish.  And  sometimes  I  start,  and  think  of 
home,  of  childhood,  of  my  strange  but  beloved  father,  deserted 
and  childless  in  his  old  age." 

"Thine,  Leila,"  returned  the  elder  senora,  "are  but  the  sor- 
rows our  nature  is  doomed  to.  What  matter,  whether  absence 
or  death  sever  the  affections  ?  Thou  lamentest  a  father ;  I,  a 
son,  dead  in  the  pride  of  his  youth  and  beauty — a  husband, 
languishing  in  the  fetters  of  the  Moor.  Take  comfort  for 
thy  sorrows,  in  the  reflection  that  sorrow  is  the  heritage  of 
all." 

Ere  Leila  could  reply,  the  orange-boughs  that  sheltered  the 
spot  where  they  sat  were  put  aside,  and  between  the  women 
and  the  fountain  stood  the  dark  form  of  Almamen,  the  Israelite. 
Leila  rose,  shrieked,  and  flung  herself,  unconscious,  on  his 
breast. 

"  O  Lord  of  Israel  !  "  cried  Almamen,  in  a  tone  of  deep 
anguish,  "  do  I,  then,  at  last  regain  my  child  ?  Do  I  press  her 
to  my  heart  ?  And  is  it  only  for  that  brief  moment  when  I 
stand  upon  the  brink  of  death  ?  Leila,  my  child,  look  up  ! 
smile  upon  thy  father  :  let  him  feel,  on  his  maddening  and 
burning  brow,  the  sweet  breath  of  the  last  of  his  race,  and 


^4  ifelLA. 

bear  with  him,  at  least,  one  holy  and  gentle  thought  to  the 
dark  grave." 

"  My  father  !  is  it  indeed  my  father  ?"  said  Leila,  recover- 
ing herself,  and  drawing  back,  that  she  might  assure  herself  of 
that  familiar  face  ;  "  It  is  thou  !  it  is — it  is  !  Oh  !  what  blessed 
chance  brings  us  together  ? " 

"  That  chance  is  the  destiny  that  hurries  me  to  my  tomb," 
answered  Almamen  solemnly,  "  Hark  !  hear  you  not  the 
sound  of  their  rushing  steeds — their  impatient  voices  ?  They 
are  on  me  now  !  " 

"  Who  ?     Of  whom  speakest  thou  ? " 

"  My  pursuers — the  horsemen  of  the  Spaniard." 

"  Oh,  senora,  save  him  !  "  cried  Leila,  turning  to  Donna  Inez, 
whom  both  father  and  child  had  hitherto  forgotten,  and  who 
now  stood  gazing  upon  Almamen  with  wondering  and  anxious 
eyes.  "  Whither  can  he  fly  ?  The  vaults  of  the  castle  may 
conceal  him.     This  way — hasten  !  " 

"  Stay,"  said  Inez,  trembling,  and  approaching  close  to 
Almamen  :  "  do  I  see  aright  ?  and,  amidst  the  dark  change  of 
years  and  trial,  do  I  recognize  that  stately  form,  which  once 
contrasted  to  the  sad  eye  of  a  mother  the  drooping  and  faded 
form  of  her  only  son  ?  Art  thou  not  he  who  saved  my  boy 
from  the  pestilence,  who  accompanied  him  to  the  shores  of 
Naples,  and  consigned  him  to  those  arms  ?  Look  on  me  !  dost 
thou  not  recall  the  mother  of  thy  friend  ?  " 

**  I  recall  thy  features  dimly  and  as  in  a  dream,"  answered 
the  Hebrew  ;  *'  and  while  thou  speakest,  there  rush  upon  me 
the  memories  of  an  earlier  time,  in  lands  where  Leila  first 
looked  upon  the  day,  and  her  mother  sung  to  me  at  sunset,  by 
the  stream  of  the  Euphrates,  and  on  the  sites  of  departed 
empires.  Thy  son — I  remember  now  :  I  had  friendship  then 
with  a  Christian — for  I  was  still  young." 

"  Waste  not  the  time — father — senora  !  "  cried  Leila  im- 
patiently, clinging  still  to  her  father's  breast. 

"  You  are  right ;  nor  shall  your  sire,  in  whom  I  thus  wonder- 
fully recognize  my  son's  friend,  perish  if  I  can  save  him." 

Inez  then  conducted  her  strange  guest  to  a  small  door  in 
the  rear  of  the  castle  ;  and  after  leading  him  through  some  of 
the  principal  apartments,  left  him  in  one  of  the  tiring-rooms, 
adjoining  her  own  chamber,  and  the  entrance  to  which  the 
arras  concealed.  She  rightly  judged  this  a  safer  retreat  than 
the  vaults  of  the  castle  might  afford,  since  her  great  name  and 
known  intimacy  with  Isabel  would  preclude  all  suspicion  of 
her.  a.betting  in  the   escape  of   the    fugitive,  and  keep  those 


Lt:tLA  i^5 

places  the  most  secure  in  which,  without  such  aid,  he  could 
not  have  secreted  himself. 

.  In  a  few  minutes  several  of  the  troop  arrived  at  the  castle, 
and  on  learning  the  name  of  its  owner,  contented  themselves 
with  searching  the  gardens,  and  the  lower  and  more  exposed 
apartments ;  and  then,  recommending  to  the  servants  a  vigilant 
look-out,  remounted,  and  proceeded  to  scour  the  plain,  over 
which  now  slowly  fell  the  starlight  and  shade  of  night. 

When  Leila  stole,  at  last,  to  the  room  in  which  Almamen 
was  hid,  she  found  him,  stretched  on  his  mantle,  in  a  deep 
sleep.  Exhausted  by  all  he  had  undergone,  and  his  rigid 
nerves,  as  it  were,  relaxed  by  the  sudden  softness  of  that  inter- 
view with  his  child,  the  slumber  of  that  fiery  wanderer  was  as 
calm  as  an  infant's.  And  their  relation  almost  seemed  reversed, 
and  the  daughter  to  be  as  a  mother  watcliing  over  her  offspring, 
when  Leila  seated  herself  softly  by  him,  fixing  her  eyes — to 
which  the  tears  came  ever,  ever  to  brushed  away — upon  his 
worn  but  tranquil  features,  made  yet  more  serene  by  the  quiet 
light  that  glimmered  through  the  casement.  And  so  passed 
the  hours  of  that  night ;  and  the  father  and  the  child — the 
meek  convert,  the  revengeful  fanatic — were  under  the  same 
roof. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

ALMAMEN  HEARS  AND  SEES,  BUT  REFUSES  TO  BELIEVE  ;  FOR 
THE  BRAIN,  OVERWROUGHT,  GROWS  DULL,  EVEN  IN  THE 
KEENEST. 

The  dawn  broke  slowly  upon  the  chamber,  and  Almamen 
still  slept.  It  was  the  Sabbath  of  the  Christians — that  day  on 
which  the  Saviour  rose  from  the  dead  ;  thence  named,  so 
emphatically  and  sublimely,  by  the  early  Church,  The  Lord's 
Day.*  And  as  the  ray  of  the  sun  flashed  in  the  east,  it  fell, 
like  a  glory,  over  a  crucifix,  placed  in  the  deep  recess  of  the 
Gothic  casement  ;  and  brought  startingly  before  the  eyes  of 
Leila  that  face  upon  which  the  rudest  of  the  Catholic  sculptors 
rarely  fail  to  preserve  the  mystic  and  awful  union  of  the  expir- 
ing anguish  of  the  man  with  the  lofty  patience  of  the  God.  It 
looked  upon  her,  that  face  ;  it  invited,  it  encouraged,  while  it 
thrilled  and  subdued.  She  stole  gently  from  the  side  of  her 
father ;  she  crept  to  the  spot,  and  flung  herself  on  her  knees 
beside  the  consecrated  image. 

♦  Before  the  Christian  era,  the  Sunday  was,  however,  called  the  Lord's  day — /./.,  tho 
4ay  of  the  Lord  the  Sun. 


9&  LfiitA, 

"Support  me,  O  Redeemer!"  she  murmured — "support 
thy  creature  !  strengthen  her  steps  in  the  blessed  path,  though  it 
divide  her  irrevocably  from  all  that  on  earth  she  loves  :  and 
if  there  be  a  sacrifice  in  her  solemn  clioice,  accept,  O  Thou, 
the  Crucified  !  accept  it,  in  part  atonement  of  the  crime  of 
her  stubborn  race  ;  and,  hereafter,  let  the  lips  of  a  maiden  of 
Judaea  implore  thee,  not  in  vain,  for  some  mitigation  of  the 
awful  curse  that  hath  fallen  justly  upon  her  tribe." 

As  broken  by  low  sobs,  and  in  a  clioked  and  muttered  voice, 
Leila  poured  forth  her  prayer,  she  was  startled  by  a  deep 
groan;  and  turning,  in  alarm,  she  saw  that  Almamen  had 
awaked,  and,  leaning  on  his  arm,  was  now  bending  upon  her 
his  dark  eyes,  once  more  gleaming  with  all  their  wonted  fire. 

"  Speak,"  he  said,  as  she  coweringly  hid  her  face — "  speak 
to  me,  or  I  shall  be  turned  to  stone  by  one  horrid  thought.  It 
is  not  before  that  symbol  that  thou  kneelest  in  adoration  ;  and 
my  sense  wanders,  if  it  tell  me  that  thy  broken  words  expressed 
the  worship  of  an  apostate  !     In  mercy,  speak  ? " 

"Father  !  "  began  Leila ;  but  her  lips  refused  to  utter  more 
than  that  touching  and  holy  word. 

Almamen  rose  ;  and  plucking  the  hands  from  her  face,  gazed 
on  her  some  moments,  as  if  he  would  penetrate  her  very 
soul ;  and  Leila,  recovering  her  courage  in  the  pause,  by 
degrees,  met  his  eyesunquailing — her  pure  and  ingenuous  brow 
raised  to  his,  and  sadness,  but  not  guilt,  speaking  from  every 
line  of  that  lovely  face. 

"  Thou  dost  not  tremble,"  said  Almamen,  at  length,  breaking 
the  silence,  "  and  I  have  erred.  Thou  art  not  the  criminal  I 
deemed  thee.     Come  to  my  arms  !  " 

"  Alas  !  "  said  Leila,  obeying  the  instinct,  and  casting  herself 
upon  that  rugged  bosom,  "  I  will  dare,  at  least,  not  to  disavow 
my  God.  Father  !  by  that  dread  anathema  which  is  on  our 
race,  which  has  made  us  homeless  and  powerless — outcasts  and 
strangers  in  the  land  ;  by  the  persecution  and  anguish  we  have 
known,  teach  thy  lordly  heart  that  we  are  rightly  punished  for 
the  persecution  and  the  anguish  we  doomed  to  Him,  whose 
footstep  hallowed  our  native  earth  !     First  in  the  history 

OF  THE  WORLD  DID  THE  STERN  HEBREWS  INFLICT  UPON  MAN- 
KIND    THE    AWFUL     CRIME     OF     PERSECUTION     FOR     OPINION'S 

SAKE.  The  seed  we  sowed  hath  brought  forth  the  Dead  Sea 
fruit  upon  which  we  feed.  I  asked  for  resignation  and  for  hope  : 
I  looked  upon  yonder  cross,  and  I  found  both.  Harden  not 
thy  heart ;  listen  to  thy  child  ;  wise  though  thou  be,  and  weak 
though  her  woman  spirit,  listen  to  me." 


LEILA  97 

"  Be  dumb  !  "  cried  Almamen,  in  such  a  voice  as  might  have 
come  from  the  cliarnel,  so  ghostly  and  deathly  sounded  its  hol- 
low tone  ;  then,  recoiling  some  steps,  he  placed  both  his  hands 
upon  his  temples,  and  muttered,  "  Mad,  mad  !  yes,  yes,  this  is 
but  a  delirium,  and  I  am  tempted  with  a  devil  !  Oh,  my 
child  !  "  he  resumed,  in  a  voice  that  became,  on  the  sudden, 
inexpressibly  tender  and  imploring,  "  I  have  been  sorely  tried  ; 
and  I  dreamt  a  feverish  dream  of  passion  and  revenge.  Be 
thine  the  lips,  and  thine  the  soothing  hand,  that  shall  wake  me 
from  it.  Let  us  fly  forever  from  these  hated  lands  ;  let  us  leave 
to  these  miserable  infidels  their  bloody  contest,  careless  which 
shall  fall,  to  a  soil  on  which  the  iron  heel  does  not  clang,  to  an 
air  where  man's  orisons  rise,  in  solitude,  to  the  Great  Jehovah, 
let  us  hasten  our  wearied  steps.  Come  !  while  the  castle  yet 
sleeps,  let  us  forth  unseen — the  father  and  the  child.  We  will 
hold  sweet  commune  by  the  way.  And  hark  ye,  Leila,"  he 
added,  in  a  low  and  abrupt  whisper,  *'  talk  not  to  me  of  yonder 
symbol  ;  for  thy  God  is  a  jealous  God,  and  hath  no  likeness  in 
the  graven  image." 

Had  he  been  less  exhausted  by  long  travail  and  racking 
thoughts,  far  different,  perhaps,  would  have  been  the  language 
of  a  man  so  stern.  But  circumstance  impresses  the  hardest 
substance  ;  and  despite  his  native  intellect  and  affected  superi- 
ority over  others,  no  one,  perhaps,  was  more  human,  in  his  fit- 
ful moods — his  weakness  and  his  strength,  his  passion  and  his 
purpose — tlian  that  strange  man,  who  had  dared,  in  his  dark 
studies  and  arrogant  self-will,  to  a.spire  beyond  humanity. 

That  was,  indeed,  a  perilous  moment  for  the  young  convert. 
The  unexpected  softness  of  her  father  utterly  subdued  her  ; 
nor  was  she  sufficiently  possessed  of  that  all-denying  zeal  of  the 
Catholic  enthusiast  to  which  every  human  tie,  and  earthly  duty, 
has  been  often  sacrificed  on  the  shrine  of  a  rapt  and  meta- 
physical piety.  Whatever  her  opinions,  her  new  creed,  her 
secret  desire  of  the  cloister,  fed  as  it  was  by  the  sublime,  though 
fallacious  notion,  that  in  her  conversion,  her  sacrifice,  the 
crimes  of  her  race  might  be  expiated  in  the  eyes  of  Him  whose 
death  had  been  the  great  atonement  of  a  world  ;  whatever  such 
higher  thoughts  and  sentiments,  they  gave  way,  at  thatmomentp 
to  the  irresistible  impulse  of  household  nature  and  of  filial  duty. 
Should  she  desert  her  father,  and  could  that  desertion  be  a 
virtue  ?  Her  heart  put  and  answered  both  questions  in  a 
breath.  She  approached  Almamen,  placed  her  hand  in  his,  and 
said,  steadily  and  calmly  :  "  Father,  wheresoever  thou  goest,  I 
will  wend  with  thee." 


98  tEtLA. 

But  Heaven  ordained  to  each  another  destiny  than  might 
have  been  theirs,  had  the  dictates  of  that  impulse  been  fulfilled. 

Ere  Almamen  could  reply,  a  trumpet  sounded  clear  and  loud 
at  the  gate. 

"  Hark  ! "  he  said,  griping  his  dagger,  and  starting  back  to  a 
sense  of  the  dangers  round  him.  "  They  come — my  pursuers 
and  mymurtherers  !  but  these  limbs  are  sacred  from  the  rack." 

Even  that  sound  of  ominous  danger  was  almost  a  relief  to 
Leila:  "I  will  go,"  she  said,  "and  learn  what  the  blast 
betokens  ;  remain  here — be  cautious — I  will  return." 

Several  minutes,  however,  elapsed,  before  Leila  reappeared  ; 
she  was  accompanied  by  Donna  Inez,  whose  paleness  and 
agitation  betokened  her  alarm.  A  courier  had  arrived  at  the 
gate  to  announce  the  approach  of  the  Queen,  who,  with  a  con- 
siderable force,  was  on  her  way  to  join  Ferdinand,  then,  in  the 
usual  rapidity  of  his  movements,  before  one  of  the  Moorish 
towns  that  had  revolted  from  his  allegiance.  It  was  impossible 
for  Almamen  to  remain  in  safety  in  the  castle  ;  and  the  only 
hope  of  escape  was  departing  immediately  and  in  disguise. 

"I  have,"  she  said,  "a  trusty  and  faithful  servant  with  me 
in  the  castle,  to  whom  I  can,  without  anxiety,  confide  the  charge 
of  your  safety ;  and  even  if  suspected  by  the  way,  my  name, 
and  the  companionship  of  my  servant,  will  remove  all  obstacles  ; 
it  is  not  a  long  journey  hence  to  Guadix,  which  has  already 
revolted  to  the  Moors  :  there,  till  the  armies  of  Ferdinand 
surround  the  walls,  your  refuge  may  be  secure." 

Almamen  remained  for  some  moments  plunged  in  a  gloomy 
silence.  But  at  length  he  signified  his  assent  to  the  plan  pro- 
posed, and  Donna  Inez  hastened  to  give  the  directions  to  his 
intended  guide. 

"  Leila,"  said  the  Hebrew,  when  left  alone  with  his  daughter, 
"  think  not  that  it  is  for  mine  own  safety  that  I  stoop  to  this 
flight  from  thee.  No  :  but  never  till  thou  wert  lost  to  me,  by 
mine  own  rash  confidence  in  another,  did  I  know  how  dear  to 
my  heart  was  the  last  scion  of  my  race,  the  sole  memorial  left 
to  me  of  thy  mother's  love.  Regaining  thee  once  more,  a  new 
and  a  soft  existence  opens  upon  my  eyes ;  and  the  earth  seems 
to  change,  as  by  a  sudden  revolution,  from  winter  into  spring. 
For  thy  sake  I  consent  to  use  all  the  means  that  man's  intellect 
can  devise,  for  preservation  from  my  foes.  Meanwhile,  here 
will  rest  my  soul  ;  to  this  spot,  within  one  week  from  this 
period — no  matter  through  what  danger  I  pass — I  shall  return  : 
then  I  shall  claim  thy  promise.  I  will  arrange  all  things  for 
our   flight,    and    no    stone   shall    harm   thy   footstep  by   the 


LEILA.  gg 

way.  The  Lord  of  Israel  be  with  thee,  my  daughter,  and 
strengthen  thy  heart !  But,"  he  added,  tearing  himself  from 
her  embrace,  as  he  heard  steps  ascending  to  the  chamber, 
"  deem  not  that,  in  this  most  fond  and  fatherly  affection,  I 
forget  what  is  due  to  me  and  thee.  Think  not  that  my  love  is 
only  the  brute  and  insensate  feeling  of  the  progenitor  to  the 
offspring  :  I  love  thee  for  thy  mother's  sake — I  love  thee  for 
thine  own — I  love  thee  yet  more  for  the  sake  of  Israel.  If  thou 
perish,  if  thou  art  lost  to  us,  thou,  the  last  daughter  of  the 
house  of  Issachar,  then  the  haughtiest  family  of  God's  great 
people  is  extinct." 

Here  Inez  appeared  at  the  door,  but  withdrew,  at  the 
impatient  and  lordly  gesture  of  Almamen,  who,  without  further 
heed  of  the  interruption,  resumed  : 

"  I  look  to  thee,  and  thy  seed,  for  the  regeneration  which  I 
once  trusted,  fool  that  I  was,  mine  own  day  might  see  effected. 
Let  this  pass.  Thou  art  under  the  roof  of  the  Nazarene.  I 
will  not  believe  that  the  arts  we  have  resisted  against  fire  and 
sword  can  prevail  with  thee.  But,  if  I  err,  awful  will  be  the 
penalty !  Could  I  once  know  that  thou  hadst  forsaken  thy 
ancestral  creed,  though  warrior  and  priest  stood  by  thee, 
though  thousands  and  ten  thousands  were  by  thy  right  hand, 
this  steel  should  save  the  race  of  Issachar  from  dishonor. 
Beware  !  Thou  weepest ;  but,  child,  I  warn,  not  threaten. 
God  be  with  thee  !  " 

He  wrung  the  cold  hand  of  his  child,  turned  to  the  door,  and, 
after  such  disguise  as  the  brief  time  allowed  him  could  afford, 
quitted  the  castle  with  his  Spanish  guide,  who,  accustomed  to 
the  benevolence  of  his  mistress,  obeyed  her  injunction  without 
wonder,  though  not  without  suspicion. 

The  third  part  of  an  hour  had  scarcely  elapsed,  and  the  sun 
was  yet  on  the  mountain-tops,  when  Isabel  arrived. 

She  came  to  announce  that  the  outbreaks  of  the  Moorish 
towns  in  the  vicinity  rendered  the  half-fortified  castle  of  her 
friend  no  longer  a  secure  abode  ;  and  she  honored  the  Spanish 
lady  with  a  command  to  accompany  her,  with  her  female  suite, 
to  the  camp  of  Ferdinand. 

Leila  received  the  intelligence  with  a  kind  of  stupor.  Her 
interview  with  her  father,  the  strong  and  fearful  contests  of 
emotion  which  that  interview  occasioned,  left  her  senses  faint 
and  dizzy  ;  and  when  she  found  herself,  by  the  twilight  star, 
once  more  with  the  train  of  Isabel,  the  only  feeling  that  stirred 
actively  through  her  stunned  and  bewildered  mind  was,  that 
the  hand  of  Providence  conducted  her  from  a  temptation  that, 


loo  LEILA. 

the  Reader  of  all  hearts  knew,  the  daughter  and  woman  would 
have  been  too  feeble  to  resist. 

On  the  fifth  day  from  his  departure,  Almamen  returned — to 
find  the  castle  deserted,  and  his  daughter  gone. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN   THE   FERMENT   OF    GREAT    EVENTS   THE   DREGS   RISE. 

The  Israelites  did  not  limit  their  struggles  to  the  dark  con- 
spiracy to  which  allusion  has  been  made.  In  some  of  the 
Moorish  towns  that  revolted  from  Ferdinand,  they  renounced 
the  neutrality  they  had  hitherto  maintained  between  Christian 
and  Moslem.  Whether  it  was  that  they  were  inflamed  by  the 
fearful  and  wholesale  barbarities  enforced  by  Ferdinand  and 
the  Inquisition  against  their  tribe  ;  or  whether  they  were 
stirred  up  by  one  of  their  own  order,  in  whom  was  recognized 
the  head  of  their  most  sacred  family  ;  or  whether,  as  is  most 
probable,  both  causes  combined — certain  it  is,  that  they  mani- 
fested a  feeling  that  was  thoroughly  unknown  to  the  ordinary 
habits  and  policy  of  that  peaceable  people.  They  bore  great 
treasure  to  the  public  stock  ;  they  demanded  arms,  and,  under 
their  own  leaders,  were  admitted,  though  with  much  jealousy 
and  precaution,  into  the  troops  of  the  arrogant  and  disdainful 
Moslems. 

In  this  conjunction  of  hostile  planets,  Ferdinand  had 
recourse  to  his  favorite  policy  of  wile  and  stratagem.  Turn- 
ing against  the  Jews  the  very  treaty  Almamen  had  once  sought 
to  obtain  in  their  favor,  he  caused  it  to  be  circulated,  privately, 
that  the  Jews,  anxious  to  purchase  their  peace  with  him,  had 
promised  to  betray  the  Moorish  towns,  and  Granada  itself,  into 
his  hands.  The  paper  which  Ferdinand  himself  had  signed  in 
his  interview  with  Almamen,  and  of  which,  on  the  capture  of 
the  Hebrew,  he  had  taken  care  to  repossess  himself,  he  gave 
to  a  spy,  whom  he  sent,  disguised  as  a  Jew,  into  one  of  the  re- 
volted cities. 

Private  intelligence  reached  the  Moorish  ringleader  of  the 
arrival  of  this  envoy.  He  was  seized,  and  the  document  found 
on  his  person.  The  form  of  the  words  drawn  up  by  Almamen 
(who  had  carefully  omitted  mention  of  his  own  name — whether 
that  which  he  assumed,  or  that  which,  by  birth,  he  should  have 
borne),  merely  conveyed  the  compact,  that  if  by  a  Jew,  within 
two  weeks  from  the  date  therein  specified,  Granada  was  de- 


Leila.  zoi 

Hvered  to  the  Christian  King,  the  Jews  should  enjoy  certain 
immunities  and  riglits. 

The  discovery  of  this  document  filled  the  Moors  of  the  city 
to  which  the  spy  had  been  sent  with  a  fury  that  no  words  can 
describe.  Always  distrusting  their  allies,  they  now  imagined 
they  perceived  the  sole  reason  of  their  sudden  enthusiasm,  of 
their  demand  for  arms.  The  mob  rose  :  the  principal  Jews 
were  seized  and  massacred  without  trial  ;  some  by  the  wrath 
of  the  multitude,  some  by  the  slower  tortures  of  the  magistrate. 
Messengers  were  sent  to  the  different  revolted  towns,  and, 
above  all,  to  Granada  itself,  lo  put  the  Moslems  on  their  guard 
against  these  unhappy  enemies  of  either  party.  At  once  covet- 
ous and  ferocious,  the  Moors  rivalled  the  Inquisition  in  their 
cruelty,  and  Ferdinand  in  their  extortion. 

It  was  the  dark  fate  of  Almamen,  as  of  most  premature  and 
heated  liberators  of  the  enslaved,  to  double  the  terrors  and  the 
evils  he  had  sought  to  cure.  The  warning  arrived  at  Granada 
at  a  time  in  which  the  Vizier,  Jusef,  had  received  the  com- 
mands of  his  royal  master,  still  at  the  siege  of  Salobrena,  to 
use  every  exertion  to  fill  the  wasting  treasuries.  Fearful  of 
new  exactions  against  the  Moors,  the  Vizier  hailed,  as  a  mes- 
sage from  Heaven,  so  just  a  pretext  for  a  new  and  sweeping 
impost  on  the  Jews.  The  spendthrift  violence  of  the  mob  was 
restrained,  because  it  was  headed  by  the  authorities,  who  were 
wisely  anxious  that  the  state  should  have  no  rival  in  the  plun- 
der it  required ;  and  the  work  of  confiscation  and  robbery  was 
carried  on  with  a  majestic  and  calm  regularity,  which  redounded 
no  less  to  the  credit  of  Jusef  than  it  contributed  to  the  coffers 
of  the  King. 

It  was  late,  one  evening  when  Ximen  was  making  his  usual 
round  through  the  chambers  of  Almamen's  house.  As  he 
glanced  around  at  the  various  articles  of  wealth  and  luxury, 
he,  ever  and  anon,  burst  into  a  low,  fitful  chuckle,  rubbed  his 
lean  hands,  and  mumbled  out  :  "  If  my  master  should  die !  If 
my  master  should  die  !  " 

While  thus  engaged,  he  heard  a  confused  and  distant  shout; 
and,  listening  attentively,  he  distinguished  a  cry,  grown  of  late 
suflficiently  familiar,  of  "Live,  Jusef  the  just — perish  the  traitor 
Jews ! " 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Ximen,  as  the  whole  character  of  his  face 
changed  :  "some  new  robbery  upon  our  race  !  And  this  is  thy 
work,  son  of  Issachar  !  Madman  that  thou  wert,  to  be  wiser 
than  thy  sires,  and  seek  to  dupe  the  idolaters  in  the  council- 
chamber  and  the  camp — their  field,  their  vantage-ground  ;  as 


I03  LEILA. 

the  bazaar  and  the  market-place  are  ours.  None  suspect  that 
the  potent  santon  is  the  traitor  Jew ;  but  I  know  it  !  I  could 
give  thee  to  the  bowstring — and,  if  thou  wert  dead,  all  thy 
goods  and  gold,  even  to  the  mule  at  the  manger,  would  be  old 
Ximen's." 

He  paused  at  that  thought,  shut  his  eyes,  and  smiled  at  the 
prospect  his  fancy  conjured  up  ;  and  completing  his  survey, 
retired  to  his  own  chamber,  which  opened,  by  a  small  door, 
upon  one  of  the  back  courts.  He  had  scarcely  reached 
the  room,  when  he  heard  a  low  tap  at  the  outer  door  ;  and 
when  it  was  thrice  repeated,  he  knew  that  it  was  one  of  his 
Jewish  brethren.  For  Ximen — as  years,  isolation,  and  avarice 
gnawed  away  whatever  of  virtue  once  put  forth  some  meagre 
fruit  from  a  heart  naturally  bare  and  rocky — still  preserved 
one  human  feeling  towards  his  countrymen.  It  was  the  bond 
which  unites  all  the  persecuted :  and  Ximen  loved  them  be- 
cause he  could  not  envy  their  happiness.  The  power,  the 
knowledge,  the  lofty  though  wild  designs  of  his  master,  stung 
and  humbled  him  :  he  secretly  hated,  because  he  could  not 
compassionate  or  contemn  him.  But  the  bowed  frame,  and 
slavish  voice,  and  timid  nerves  of  his  crushed  brotherhood 
presented  to  the  old  man  the  likeness  of  things  that  could  not 
exult  over  him.  Debased,  and  aged,  and  solitary  as  he  was,  he 
felt  a  kind  of  wintry  warmth  in  the  thought  that  even  he  had 
the  power  to  protect ! 

He  thus  maintained  an  intercourse  with  his  fellow-Israelites  ; 
and  often,  in  their  dangers,  had  afforded  them  a  refuge  in  the 
numerous  vaults  and  passages,  the  ruins  of  which  may  still  be 
descried  beneath  the  mouldering  foundations  of  that  mysterious 
mansion.  And  as  the  house  was  generally  supposed  the  prop- 
erty of  an  absent  emir,  and  had  been  especially  recommended 
to  the  care  of  the  cadis  by  Boabdil,  who  alone  of  the  Moors 
knew  it  as  one  of  the  dwelling-places  of  the  santon,  whose  os- 
tensible residence  was  in  apartments  allotted  to  him  within  the 
palace,  it  was,  perhaps,  the  sole  place  within  Granada  which 
afforded  an  unsuspected  and  secure  refuge  to  the  hunted 
Israelites. 

When  Ximen  recognized  the  wonted  signal  of  his  brethren, 
he  crawled  to  the  door ;  and,  after  the  precaution  of  a  Hebrew 
watchword,  replied  to  in  the  same  tongue,  he  gave  admittance 
to  the  tall  and  stooping  frame  of  the  rich  Elias. 

"  Worthy  and  excellent  master  !  "  said  Ximen,  after  again 
securing  the  entrance  ;  "  what  can  bring  the  honored  and 
wealthy  Elias  to  the  chamber  of  the  poor  hireling  ?  " 


LEILA.  |0j 

"  My  friend,"  answered  the  Jew  ;  **  call  me  not  wealthy,  nor 
honored.  For  years  I  have  dwelt  within  the  city,  safe  and 
respected,  even  by  the  Moslemin  ;  verily  and  because  I  have 
purchased,  with  jewels  and  treasure,  the  protection  of  the  King 
and  the  great  men.  But  now,  alas  !  in  the  sudden  wrath  of 
the  heathen — ever  imagining  vain  things — I  have  been  sum- 
moned into  the  presence  of  their  chief  rabbi,  and  only  escaped 
the  torture  by  a  sum  that  ten  years  of  labor  and  the  sweat  of 
my  brow  cannot  replace.  Ximen,  the  bitterest  thought  of  all 
is,  that  the  frenzy  of  one  of  our  own  tribe  has  brought  this 
desolation  upon  Israel." 

"  My  lord  speaks  riddles,"  said  Xiraen,  with  well-feigned 
astonishment  in  his  glassy  eyes. 

"  Why  dost  thou  wind  and  turn,  good  Ximen  ? "  said  the 
Jew,  shaking  his  head;  "thou  knowest  well  what  my  words 
drive  at.  Thy  master  is  the  pretended  Almamen  ;  and  that 
recreant  Israelite  (if  Israelite,  indeed,  still  be  one  who  hath  for- 
saken the  customs  and  the  forms  of  his  forefathers)  is  he  who 
has  stirred  up  the  Jews  of  Cordova  and  Guadix,  and  whose 
folly  hath  brought  upon  us  these  dread  things.  Holy  Abraham  ! 
this  Jew  hath  cost  me  more  than  fifty  Nazarenes  and  a  hun- 
dred Moors." 

Ximen  remained  silent ;  and  the  tongue  of  Elias  being  loosed 
by  the  recollection  of  his  sad  loss,  the  latter  continued  •  "  At 
the  first,  when  the  son  of  Issachar  reappeared,  and  became  a 
counsellor  in  the  King's  court,  I  indeed,  who  had  led  him,  then 
a  child,  to  the  synagogue — for  old  Issachar  was  to  me  dear  as 
a  brother — recognized  him  by  his  eyes  and  voice  ;  but  I  exulted 
in  his  craft  and  concealment ;  I  believed  he  would  work 
mighty  things  for  his  poor  brethren,  and  would  obtain,  for  his 
father's  friend,  the  supplying  of  the  King's  wives  and  concu- 
bines with  raiment  and  cloth  of  price.  But  years  have  passed  : 
he  hath  not  lightened  our  burthens  ;  and,  by  the  madness  that 
hath  of  late  come  over  him,  heading  the  heathen  armies,  and 
drawing  our  brethren  into  danger  and  death,  he  hatli  deserved 
the  curse  of  the  synagogue,  and  the  wrath  of  our  whole  race. 
I  find,  from  our  brethren  who  escaped  the  Inquisition  by  the 
surrender  of  their  substance,  that  his  unskilful,  frantic  schemes 
were  the  main  pretext  for  the  sufferings  of  the  righteous  under 
the  Nazarene  ;  and,  again,  the  same  schemes  bring  on  us  the 
same  oppression  from  the  Moor.  Accursed  be  he,  and  may  his 
name  perish  !  " 

Ximen  sighed,  but  remained  silent,  conjecturing  to  what  end 
the  Jew  would  bring  his  invectives.     He  was  not  long  in  sus- 


164  LEtLA. 

pense.  After  a  pause,  Elias  recommenced,  in  an  altered  and 
more  careless  tone :  "  He  is  rich,  this  son  of  Issachar — won- 
drous rich." 

"  He  has  treasures  scattered  over  half  the  cities  of  Africa 
and  the  Orient,"  said  Ximen. 

"Thou  seest,  then,  my  friend,  that  thy  master  hath  doomed 
me  to  a  heavy  loss.  I  possess  his  secret ;  I  could  give  him  up 
to  the  King's  wrath  ;  I  could  bring  him  to  the  death.  But  I 
am  just  and  meek  :  let  him  pay  my  forfeiture,  and  I  will  forego 
mine  anger." 

"  Thou  dost  not  know  him,"  said  Ximen,  alarmed  at  the 
thought  of  a  repayment  which  might  grievously  diminish  his 
own  heritage  of  Almamen's  effects  in  Granada. 

"But  if  I  threaten  him  with  exposure  ?" 

"  Thou  wouldst  feed  the  fishes  of  the  Darro,"  interrupted 
Ximen.  "  Nay,  even  now,  if  Almamen  learn  that  thou  knowest 
his  birth  and  race,  tremble !  for  thy  days  in  the  land  will  be 
numbered." 

" Verily,"  exclaimed  the  Jew  in  great  alarm,  "then  have  I 
fallen  into  the  snare  ;  for  these  lips  revealed  to  him  that 
knowledge." 

"  Then  is  the  righteous  Elias  a  lost  man  within  ten  days 
from  that  in  which  Almamen  returns  to  Granada,  I  know  my 
master  :  and  blood  is  to  him  as  water." 

"  Let  the  wicked  be  consumed  ! "  cried  Elias  furiously,  stamp- 
ing his  foot,  while  fire  flashed  from  his  dark  eyes,  for  the  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation  made  him  fierce.  "  Not  from  me, 
however,"  he  added  more  calmly,  "will  come  his  danger. 
Know  that  there  be  more  than  a  hundred  Jews  in  this  city  who 
have  sworn  his  death  ;  Jews  who,  flying  hither  from  Cordova, 
have  seen  their  parents  murdered  and  their  substance  seized, 
and  who  behold,  in  the  son  of  Issachar,  the  cause  of  the  mur- 
der and  the  spoil.  They  have  detected  the  impostor,  and  a 
hundred  knives  are  whetting  even  now  for  his  blood  :  let  him 
look  to  it.  Ximen,  I  have  spoken  to  thee  as  the  foolish  speak  ; 
thou  mayest  betray  me  to  thy  lord  :  but  from  what  I  have 
learned  of  thee  from  our  brethren,  1  have  poured  my  heart  into 
thy  bosom  without  fear.  Wilt  thou  betray  Israel,  or  assist  us 
to  smite  the  traitor?" 

Ximen  mused  a  moment,  and  his  meditation  conjured  up 
the  treasures  of  his  master.  He  stretched  forth  his  right 
hand  to  Elias ;  and  when  the  Israelites  parted,  they  were 
friends. 


LEILA.  105 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BOABDIL's  return. — THE   REAPPEARANCE   OF    FERDINAND   BE- 
FORE GRANADA. 

The  third  morning  from  this  interview,  a  rumor  reached 
Granada  that  Boabdil  had  been  repulsed  in  his  assault  on  the 
citadel  of  Salobrena  with  a  severe  loss  :  that  Hernando  del 
Pulgar  had  succeeded  in  conducting  to  its  relief  a  considerable 
force  ;  and  that  the  army  of  Ferdinand  was  on  its  march 
against  the  Moorish  King.  In  the  midst  of  the  excitement 
occasioned  by  these  reports,  a  courier  arrived  to  confirm  their 
truth,  and  to  announce  the  return  of  Boabdil. 

At  nightfall,  the  King,  preceding  his  army,  entered  the  city, 
and  hastened  to  bury  himself  in  the  Alhambra.  As  he  passed 
dejectedly  into  the  women's  apartments,  his  stern  mother  met 
him. 

" My  son,"  she  said  bitterly,  "dost  thou  return  and  not  a 
conqueror?" 

Before  Boabdil  could  reply,  a  light  and  rapid  step  sped 
through  the  glittering  arcades ;  and  weeping  with  joy,  and 
breaking  all  the  Oriental  restraints,  Amine  fell  upon  his  bosom. 
"  My  beloved  !  my  king  !  light  of  mine  eyes  !  thou  hast  returned. 
Welcome — for  thou  art  safe." 

The  different  form  of  these  several  salutations  struck  Boab- 
dil forcibly.  "  Thou  seest,  my  mother,"  said  he,  "  how  great 
the  contrast  between  those  who  love  us  from  affection,  and 
those  who  love  us  from  pride.  In  adversity,  God  keep  me, 
oh,  my  mother,  from  thy  tongue  ! " 

"  But  I  love  thee  from  pride,  too,"  murmured  Amine  ;  "  and 
for  that  reason  is  thine  adversity  dear  to  me,  for  it  takes  thee 
from  the  world  to  make  thee  more  mine  own  :  and  I  am  proud 
of  the  afflictions  that  my  hero  shares  with  his  slave." 

"  Lights  there,  and  the  banquet  ! "  cried  the  King,  turning 
from  his  haughty  mother ;  "  we  will  feast  and  be  merry  while 
we  may.     My  adored  Amine,  kiss  me  !  " 

Proud,  melancholy,  and  sensitive  as  he  was  in  that  hour  of 
reverse,  Boabdil  felt  no  grief :  such  balm  has  Love  for  our 
sorrows,  when  its  wings  are  borrowed  from  the  dove  !  And 
although  the  laws  of  the  Eastern  life  confined  to  the  narrow 
walls  of  a  harem  the  sphere  of  Amine's  gentle  influence  ; 
although,  even  in  romance,  the  natural  compels  us  to  por- 
tray her  vivid  and  rich  colors  only  in  a  faint  and  hasty  sketch, 
yet  still  are  left  to  the  outline  the  loveliest  and  the  noblest 


lo6  LEILA 

features  of  the  sex — the  spirit  to  arouse  us  to  exertion,  the 
softness  to  console  us  in  our  fall  ! 

While  Boabdil  and  the  body  of  the  army  remained  in  the 
city,  Muza,  with  a  chosen  detachment  of  the  horse,  scoured 
the  country  to  visit  the  newly  acquired  cities,  and  sustain  their 
courage. 

From  this  charge  he  was  recalled  by  the  army  of  Ferdinand, 
which  once  more  poured  down  into  the  Vega,  completely 
devastated  its  harvests,  and  then  swept  back  to  consummate 
the  conquests  of  the  revolted  towns.  To  this  irruption  suc- 
ceeded an  interval  of  peace — the  calm  before  the  storm.  From 
every  part  of  Spain  the  most  chivalric  and  resolute  of  the 
Moors,  taking  advantage  of  the  pause  in  the  contest,  flocked 
to  Granada  ;  and  that  city  became  the  focus  of  all  that  pagan- 
ism in  Europe  possessed  of  brave  and  determined  spirits. 

At  length  Ferdinand,  completing  his  conquests,  and  having 
refilled  his  treasury,  mustered  the  whole  force  of  his  domin- 
ions— forty  thousand  foot,  and  ten  thousand  horse  ;  and  once 
more,  and  for  the  last  time,  appeared  before  the  walls  of 
Granada.  A  solemn  and  prophetic  determination  filled  both 
besiegers  and  besieged  :  each  felt  that  the  crowning  crisis  was 
at  hand. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    CONFLAGRATION. THE  MAJESTY  OF  AN    INDIVIDUAL  PAS- 
SION   IN    THE    MIDST    OF    HOSTILE    THOUSANDS. 

It  was  the  eve  of  a  great  and  general  assault  upon  Granada, 
deliberately  planned  by  the  chiefs  of  the  Christian  army.  The 
Spanish  camp  (the  most  gorgeous  Christendom  had  ever 
known)  gradually  grew  calm  and  hushed.  The  shades  deep- 
ened, the  stars  burned  forth  more  serene  and  clear.  Bright, 
in  that  azure  air,  streamed  the  silken  tents  of  the  court,  blazoned 
with  heraldic  devices,  and  crowned  by  gaudy  banners,  which, 
filled  by  a  brisk  and  murmuring  wind  from  the  mountains, 
flaunted  gayly  on  their  gilded  staves.  In  the  centre  of  the 
camp  rose  the  pavilion  of  the  Queen — a  palace  in  itself.  Lances 
made  its  columns  ;  brocade  and  painted  arras,  its  walls ;  and 
the  space  covered  by  its  numerous  compartments  would  have 
contained  the  halls  and  outworks  of  an  ordinary  castle.  The 
pomp  of  that  camp  realized  the  wildest  dreams  of  Gothic, 
coupled  with  Oriental  splendor  ;  something  worthy  of  a  Tasso 
to  have  imagined,  or  a  Beckford  to  create.  Nor  was  the 
exceeding  costliness  of  the  more  courtly  tents  lessened  in  effect 


LEILA.  107 

by  those  of  the  soldiery  in  the  outskirts,  many  of  which  were 
built  from  boughs,  still  retaining  their  leaves — savage  and 
picturesque  huts  ;  as  if,  realizing  old  legends,  wild  men  of  the 
woods  had  taken  up  the  cross,  and  followed  the  Christian 
warriors  against  the  swarthy  followers  of  Termagaunt  and 
Mahound.  There,  then,  extended  that  mighty  camp  in  pro- 
found repose,  as  the  midnight  threw  deeper  and  longer  shadows 
over  the  sward  from  the  tented  avenues  and  canvas  streets.  It 
was  at  that  hour  that  Isabel,  in  the  most  private  recess  of  her 
pavilion,  was  employed  in  prayer  for  the  safety  of  the  King,  and 
the  issue  of  the  Sacred  War.  Kneeling  before  the  altar  of  that 
warlike  oratory,  her  spirit  became  rapt  and  absorbed  from  earth 
in  the  intensity  of  her  devotions  ;  and  in  the  whole  camp  (save 
the  sentries),  the  eyes  of  that  pious  queen  were,  perhaps,  the 
only  ones  unclosed.  All  was  profoundly  still ;  her  guards,  her 
attendants,  were  gone  to  rest ;  and  the  tread  of  the  sentinel, 
without  that  immense  pavilion,  was  not  heard  through  the 
silken  walls. 

It  was  then  that  Isabel  suddenly  felt  a  strong  grasp  upon  her 
shoulder,  as  she  still  knelt  by  the  altar.  A  faint  shriek  burst 
from  her  lips  ;  she  turned,  and  the  broad,  curved  knife  of  an 
Eastern  warrior  gleamed  close  before  her  eyes. 

"  Hush  !  utter  a  cry,  breathe  more  loudly  than  thy  wont,  and, 
queen  though  thou  art,  in  the  centre  of  swarming  thousands, 
thou  diest !  " 

Such  were  the  words  that  reached  the  ear  of  the  royal  Cas- 
tilian,  whispered  by  a  man  of  stern  and  commanding,  though 
haggard,  aspect. 

"  What  is  thy  purpose  ?  Wouldst  thou  murder  me  ?  "  said 
the  Queen,  trembling,  perhaps  for  the  first  time,  before  a  mor- 
tal presence. 

"  Thy  life  is  safe,  if  thou  strivest  not  to  elude  or  to  deceive 
me.  Our  time  is  short — answer  me,  I  am  Almamen,  the 
Hebrew.  Where  is  the  hostage  rendered  to  thy  hands?  I 
claim  my  child.  She  is  with  thee — I  know  it.  In  what  corner 
of  thy  camp?" 

"  Rude  stranger  !  "  said  Isabel,  recovering  somewhat  from 
her  alarm,  "thy  daughter  is  removed,  I  trust,  forever,  from 
thine  impious  reach.     She  is  not  within  the  camp." 

"  Lie  not.  Queen  of  Castile,"  said  Almamen,  raising  his 
knife  ;  "  for  days  and  weeks  I  have  tracked  thy  steps,  followed 
thy  march,  haunted  even  thy  slumbers,  though  men  of  mail 
stood  as  guards  around  tliem  ;  and  I  know  that  my  daughter 
has  been  with  thee.     Think  not  I  brave  this  danger  without 


lo8  LEILA. 

resolves  the  most  fierce  and  dread.  Answer  me  !  Where  is  my 
child  ? " 

"  Many  days  since,"  said  Isabel,  awed,  despite  herself,  by 
her  strange  position,  "  thy  daughter  left  the  camp  for  the 
house  of  God.  It  was  her  own  desire.  The  Saviour  hath 
received  her  into  His  fold." 

Had  a  thousand  lances  pierced  his  heart,  the  vigor  and  energy 
of  life  could  scarce  more  suddenly  have  deserted  Almamen. 
The  rigid  muscles  of  his  countenance  relaxed  at  once,  from 
resolve  and  menace,  into  unutterable  horror,  anguish,  and  de- 
spair. He  recoiled  several  steps  ;  his  knees  trembled  violently  ; 
he  seemed  stunned  by  a  death-blow.  Isabel,  the  boldest  and 
haughtiest  of  her  sex,  seized  that  moment  of  reprieve ; 
she  sprung  forward,  darted  through  the  draperies  into  the 
appartments  occupied  by  her  train,  and,  in  a  moment,  the 
pavilion  resounded  with  her  cries  for  aid.  The  sentinels  were 
aroused ;  retainers  sprang  from  their  pillows  ;  they  heard  the 
cause  of  the  alarm  ;  they  made  to  the  spot  ;  when,  ere  they 
reached  its  partition  of  silk,  a  vivid  and  startling  blaze  burst 
forth  upon  them.  The  tent  was  on  fire.  The  materials  fed 
the  flame  like  magic.  Some  of  the  guards  had  yet  the  courage 
to  dash  forward  ;  but  the  smoke  and  the  glare  drove  them 
back,  blinded  and  dizzy.  Isabel  herself  had  scarcely  time  for 
escape,  so  rapid  was  the  conflagration.  Alarmed  for  her  hus- 
band, she  rushed  to  his  tent — to  find  him  already  awakened 
by  the  noise,  and  issuing  from  its  entrance,  his  drawn  sword  in 
his  hand.  The  wind,  which  had  a  few  minutes  before  but 
curled  the  triumphant  banners,  now  circulated  the  destroying 
flames.  It  spread  from  tent  to  tent,  almost  as  a  flash  of  light- 
ning that  shoots  along  neighboring  clouds.  The  camp  was  in 
one  continued  blaze,  ere  any  man  could  dream  of  checking 
the  conflagration. 

Not  waiting  to  hear  the  confused  tale  of  his  royal  consort, 
Ferdinand,  exclaiming  :  "  The  Moors  have  done  this — they 
will  be  on  us  !  "  ordered  the  drums  to  beat  and  the  trumpets 
to  sound,  and  hastened  in  person,  wrapped  merely  in  his  long 
mantle,  to  alarm  his  chiefs.  While  that  well-disciplined  and 
veteran  army,  fearing  every  moment  the  rally  of  the  foe,  en- 
deavored rapidly  to  form  themselves  into  some  kind  of  order, 
the  flame  continued  to  spread  till  the  whole  heavens  were 
illumined.  By  its  light,  cuirass  and  helmet  glowed,  as  in  the 
furnace,  and  the  armed  men  seemed  rather  like  lifelike  and 
lurid  meteors  than  human  forms.  The  city  of  Granada  was 
brought  near  to  them  by  the  intensity  of  the  glow  ;  and  as  a 


LEILA.  109 

detachment  of  cavalry  spurred  from  the  camp  to  meet  the  an- 
ticipated surprise  of  the  Paynims,  they  saw,  upon  the  walls  and 
roofs  of  Granada,  the  Moslems  clustering,  and  their  spears 
gleaming.  But,  equally  amazed  with  the  Christians,  and  equally 
suspicious  of  craft  and  design,  the  Moors  did  not  issue  from 
their  gates.  Meanwhile  the  conflagration,  as  rapid  to  die  as 
to  begin,  grew  fitful  and  feeble  ;  and  the  night  seemed  to  fall 
with  a  melancholy  darkness  over  the  ruin  of  that  silken  city. 

Ferdinand  summoned  his  council.  He  had  now  perceived 
it  was  no  ambush  of  the  Moors.  The  account  of  Isabel,  which, 
at  last,  he  comprehended ;  the  strange  and  almost  miraculous 
manner  in  which  Almamen  had  baffled  his  guards,  and  pene- 
trated to  the  royal  tent — might  have  aroused  his  Gothic  super- 
stition, while  it  relieved  his  more  earthly  apprehensions,  if  he 
had  not  remembered  the  singular,  but  far  from  supernatural, 
dexterity  with  which  Eastern  warriors,  and  even  robbers,  con- 
tinued then,  as  now,  to  elude  the  most  vigilant  precautions,  and 
baffled  the  most  wakeful  guards :  and  it  was  evident,  that  the 
fire  which  burned  the  camp  of  an  army  had  been  kindled 
merely  to  gratify  the  revenge,  or  favor  the  escape,  of  an  indi- 
vidual. Shaking,  therefore,  from  his  kindly  spirit  the  thrill  of 
superstitious  awe  that  the  greatness  of  the  disaster,  when 
associated  with  the  name  of  a  sorcerer,  at  first  occasioned,  he 
resolved  to  make  advantage  out  of  misfortune  itself.  The 
excitement,  the  wrath  of  the  troops,  produced  the  temper 
most  fit  for  action. 

"And  Heaven,"  said  the  King  of  Spain  to  his  knights  and 
chiefs,  as  they  assembled  round  him,  "  has,  in  this  conflagration, 
announced  to  the  warriors  of  the  Cross,  that  henceforth  their 
camp  shall  be  the  palaces  of  Granada  !  Woe  to  the  Moslem 
with  to-morrow's  sun  !  " 

Arms  clanged,  and  swords  leaped  from  their  sheaths,  as  the 
Christian  knights  echoed  the  anathema  :  "Woe  to  the  Mos- 
lem ! " 


no  LEILA. 


BOOK  V. 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE   GREAT    BATTLE. 

The  day  slowly  dawned  upon  that  awful  night ;  and  the 
Moors,  still  upon  the  battlements  of  Granada,  beheld  the  whole 
army  of  Ferdinand  on  its  march  towards  their  walls.  At  a  dis- 
tance lay  the  wrecks  of  the  blackened  and  smouldering  camp  ; 
while  before  them,  gaudy  and  glittering  pennons  waving,  and 
trumpets  sounding,  came  the  exultant  legions  of  the  foe.  The 
Moors  could  scarcely  believe  their  senses.  Fondly  anticipat- 
ing the  retreat  of  the  Christians,  after  so  signal  a  disaster,  the 
gay  and  dazzling  spectacle  of  their  march  to  the  assault  filled 
them  with  consternation  and  alarm. 

While  yet  wondering  and  inactive,  the  trumpet  of  Boabdil 
was  heard  behind  :  and  they  beheld  the  Moorish  King  at  the 
head  of  his  guards,  emerging  down  the  avenues  that  led  to  the 
gate.  The  sight  restored  and  exhilarated  the  gazers  ;  and, 
when  Boabdil  halted  in  the  space  before  the  portals,  the  shout 
of  twenty  thousand  warriors  roiled  ominously  to  the  ears  of  the 
advancing  Christians. 

*'  Men  of  Granada  !  "  said  Boabdil,  as  soon  as  the  deep  and 
breathless  silence  had  succeeded  to  that  martial  acclamation, 
**  the  advance  of  the  enemy  is  to  their  destruction  !  In  the  fire 
of  last  night,  the  hand  of  Allah  wrote  their  doom.  Let  us 
forth,  each  and  all  !  We  will  leave  our  homes  unguarded — 
our  hearts  shall  be  their  wall  !  True,  that  our  numbers  are 
thinned  by  famine  and  by  slaughter,  but  enough  of  us  are  yet 
left  for  the  redemption  of  Granada.  Nor  are  the  dead  departed 
from  us :  the  dead  fight  with  us — their  souls  animate  our  own. 
He  who  has  lost  a  brother,  becomes  twice  a  man.  On  this 
battle  we  will  set  all.  Liberty  or  chains !  Empire  or  exile  \ 
Victory  or  death  !     Forward  !  " 

He  spoke,  and  gave  the  rein  to  his  barb.  It  bounded  for- 
ward, and  cleared  the  gloomy  arch  of  the  portals,  and  Boabdil 
el  Chico  was  the  first  Moor  who  issued  from  Granada,  to  that 
last  and  eventful  field.  Out,  then,  poured,  as  a  river  that 
rushes  from  caverns  into  day,  the  burnished  and  serried  files  of 
the  Moorish  cavalry.  Muza  came  the  last,  closing  the  array. 
Upon  his  dark  and  stern  countenance  there  spoke  not  the 


LEILA.  Ill 

ardent  enthusiasm  of  the  sanguine  King.  It  was  locked  and 
rigid  ;  and  the  anxieties  of  the  last  dismal  weeks  had  thinned 
his  cheeks,  and  ploughed  deep  lines  around  the  firm  lips  and 
iron  jaw  which  bespoke  the  obstinate  and  unconquerable  reso- 
lution of  his  character. 

As  Muza  now  spurred  forward,  and,  riding  along  the  wheel- 
ing ranks,  marshalled  them  in  order,  arose  the  acclamation  of 
female  voices  ;  and  the  warriers  who  looked  back  at  the  sound, 
saw  that  their  women — their  wives  and  daughters,  their 
mothers  and  their  beloved  (released  from  their  seclusion  by  a 
policy  which  bespoke  the  desperation  of  the  cause) — were  gazing 
at  them,  with  outstretched  arms,  from  the  battlements  and 
towers.  The  Moors  knew  that  they  were  now  to  fight  for 
their  hearths  and  altars  in  the  presence  of  those  who,  if  they 
failed,  became  slaves  and  harlots  ;  and  each  Moslem  felt  his 
heart  harden  like  the  steel  of  his  own  sabre. 

While  the  cavalry  formed  themselves  into  regular  squadrons, 
and  the  tramp  of  the  foemen  came  more  near  and  near, the  Moorish 
infantry,  in  miscellaneous,  eager,and  undisciplined  bands,  poured 
out  until,  spreading  wide  and  deep  below  the  walls,  Boab- 
dil's  charger  was  seen,  rapidly  careering  amongst  them,  as,  in 
short  but  distinct  directions,  or  fiery  adjuration,  he  sought  at 
once  to  regulate  their  movements,  and  confirm  their  hot  but 
capricious  valor. 

Meanwhile  the  Christians  had  abruptly  halted  ;  and  the 
politic  Ferdinand  resolved  not  to  incur  the  full  brunt  of  a  whole 
population,  in  the  first  flush  of  their  enthusiasm  and  despair. 
He  summoned  to  his  side  Hernando  del  Pulgar,  and  bade 
him,  with  a  troop  of  the  most  adventurous  and  practiced  horse- 
men, advance  towards  the  Moorish  cavalry,  and  endeavor  to 
draw  the  fiery  valor  of  Muza  away  from  the  main  army.  Then, 
splitting  up  his  force  into  several  sections,  he  dismissed  each 
to  different  stations  :  some  to  storm  the  adjacent  towers,  others 
to  fire  the  surrounding  gardens  and  orchards  :  so  that  the 
action  might  consist  rather  of  many  battles  than  of  one,  and 
the  Moors  might  lose  the  concentration  and  union  which  made, 
at  present,  their  most  formidable  strength. 

Thus,  while  the  Mussulmans  were  waiting,  in  order  for  the 
attack,  they  suddenly  beheld  the  main  body  of  the  Christians 
dispersing  ;  and  while  yet  in  surprise  and  perplexed,  they  saw 
the  fires  breaking  out  from  their  delicious  gardens,  to  the  right 
and  left  of  the  walls,  and  heard  the  boom  of  the  Christian  artil- 
lery against  the  scattered  bulwarks  that  guarded  the  approaches 
of  that  city. 


IIS  LEl-LA, 

At  that  moment  a  cloud  of  dust  rolled  rapidly  towards  the 
post  occupied  in  the  van  by  Muza  ;  and  the  shock  of  the 
Christian  knights,  in  their  mighty  mail,  broke  upon  the  centre 
of  the  Prince's  squadron. 

Higher,  by  several  inches,  than  the  plumage  of  his  com- 
panions, waved  the  crest  of  the  gigantic  Del  Pulgar  ;  and  as 
Moor  after  Moor  went  down  before  his  headlong  lance,  his 
voice,  sounding  deep  and  sepulchral  through  his  visor,  shouted 
out  :  "  Death  to  the  infidel  !  " 

The  rapid  and  dexterous  horsemen  of  Granada  were  not, 
however,  discomfited  by  this  fierce  assault  ;  opening  theit 
ranks  with  extraordinary  celerity,  they  suffered  the  charge  to 
pass,  comparatively  harmless,  through  their  centre,  and  then 
closing  in  one  long  and  bristling  line,  cut  off  the  knights  from 
retreat.  The  Christians  wheeled  round,  and  charged  again 
upon  their  foe. 

"  Where  art  thou,  O  Moslem  dog  !  that  wouldst  play  the  lion  f 
Where  art  thou,  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan  ?  " 

"  Before  thee.  Christian  !  "  cried  a  stern  and  clear  voice  ;  and 
from  amongst  the  helmets  of  his  people,  gleamed  the  dazzling 
turban  of  the  Moor. 

Hernando  checked  his  steed,  gazed  a  moment  at  his  foe, 
turned  back,  for  greater  impetus  to  his  charge,  and  in  3. 
moment  more,  the  bravest  warriors  of  the  two  armies  met^ 
lance  to  lance. 

The  round  shield  of  Muza  received  the  Christian's  weapon  ; 
his  own  spear  shivered,  harmless,  upon  the  breast  of  the  giant 
He  drew  his  sword,  whirled  it  rapidly  over  his  head,  and,  fo** 
some  minutes,  the  eyes  of  the  bystanders  could  scarcely  mark 
the  marvellous  rapidity  with  which  strokes  were  given  and 
parried  by  those  redoubted  swordsmen. 

At  length,  Hernando,  anxious  to  bring  to  bear  his  superior 
strength,  spurred  close  to  Muza  ;  and  leaving  his  sword  pen- 
dant by  a  thong  to  his  wrist,  seized  the  shield  of  Muza  in  his 
formidable  grasp,  and  plucked  it  away,with  a  force  that  the  Moor 
vainly  endeavored  to  resist :  Muza,  therefore,  suddenly  released 
his  hold  ;  and,  ere  the  Spaniard  recovered  his  balance  (which 
was  lost  by  the  success  of  his  own  strength,  put  forth  to  the 
utmost),  he  dashed  upon  him  the  hoofs  of  his  black  charger, 
and,  with  a  short  but  heavy  mace,  which  he  caught  up  from 
the  saddle-bow,  dealt  Hernando  so  thundering  a  blow  upon 
the  helmet,  that  the  giant  fell  to  the  ground,  stunned  and 
senseless. 

To  dismount,  to  repossess  himself  of  his  shield,  to  resume 


LEILA.  113 

his  sabre,  to  put  one  knee  to  the  breast  of  his  fallen  foe,  was 
the  work  of  a  moment  ;  and  then  had  Don  Hernando  del  Pul- 
gar  been  sped,  without  priest  or  surgeon,  but  that,  alarmed 
by  the  peril  of  their  most  valiant  comrade,  twenty  knights 
spurred  at  once  to  the  rescue,  and  the  points  of  twenty  lances 
kept  the  Lion  of  Granada  from  his  prey.  Thither,  with 
similar  speed,  rushed  the  Moorish  champions  ;  and  the  fight 
became  close  and  deadly  round  the  body  of  the  still  uncon- 
scious Christian.  Not  an  instant  of  leisure  to  unlace  the  hel- 
met of  Hernando,  by  removing  which,  alone,  the  Moorish  blade 
could  find  a  mortal  place,  was  permitted  to  Muza ;  and, 
what  with  the  spears  and  trampling  hoofs  around  him,  the 
situation  of  the  Paynim  was  more  dangerous  that  that  of  the 
Cliristian.  Meanwhile,  Hernando  recoved  his  dizzy  senses  ; 
and,  made  aware  of  his  state,  watched  his  occasion,  and 
suddenly  shook  off  the  knee  of  the  Moor.  With  another 
effort  he  was  on  his  feet :  and  the  two  champions  stood  con- 
fronting each  other,  neither  very  eager  to  renew  the  combat. 
But  on  foot,  Muza,  daring  and  rash  as  he  was,  could  not  but 
recognize  his  disadvantage  against  the  enormous  strength  and 
impenetrable  armor  of  the  Christian  ;  he  drew  back,  whistled 
to  his  barb,  that,  piercing  the  ranks  of  the  horsemen,  was  by 
his  side  on  the  instant,  remounted,  and  was  in  the  midst  of  the 
foe,  almost  ere  the  slower  Spaniard  was  conscious  of  his  dis- 
appearance. 

But  Hernando  was  not  delivered  from  his  enemy.  Clear- 
ing a  space  around  him,  as  three  knights,  mortally  wounded, 
fell  beneath  his  sabre,  Muza  now  drew  from  behind  his 
shoulder  his  short  Arabian  bow  ;  and  shaft  after  shaft  came 
rattling  upon  the  mail  of  the  dismounted  Christian  with  so 
marvellous  a  celerity,  that,  encumbered  as  he  was  with  his 
heavy  accoutrements,  he  was  unable  either  to  escape  from  the 
spot,  or  ward  off  that  arrowy  rain  ;  and  felt  that  nothing  but 
chance,  or  Our  Lady,  could  prevent  the  death  which  one  such 
arrow  would  occasion,  if  it  should  find  the  opening  of  the 
visor,  or  the  joints  of  the  hauberk. 

"Mother  of  Mercy  !"  groaned  the  knight,  perplexed  and 
enraged,  "let  not  thy  servant  be  shot  down  like  a  hart,  by  this 
cowardly  warfare,  but,  if  I  must  fall,  be  it  with  mine  enemy, 
grappling  hand  to  hand." 

While  yet  muttering  this  short  invocation,  the  war-cry  of 
Spain  was  heard  hard  by,  and  the  gallant  company  of  Villena 
was  seen  scouring  across  the  plain,  to  the  succor  of  their  com- 
rades.    The  deadly  attention  of  Muza  was  distracted  from  indi- 


H4  LEILA. 

vidual  foes,  however  eminent ;  he  wheeled  round,  re-collected 
his  men,  and,  in  a  serried  charge,  met  the  new  enemy  in  mid- 
way. 

While  the  contest  thus  fared  in  that  part  of  the  field,  the  scheme 
of  Ferdinand  had  succeeded  so  far  as  to  break  up  the  battle  in 
detached  sections.  Far  and  near,  plain,  grove,  garden,  tower, 
presented  each  the  scene  of  obstinate  and  determined  conflict, 
Boabdil,  at  the  head  of  his  chosen  guard,  the  flower  of  the 
haughtier  tribe  of  nobles,  who  were  jealous  of  the  fame  and 
blood  of  the  tribe  of  Muza,  and  followed  also  by  his  gigantic 
Ethiopians,  exposed  his  person  to  every  peril,  with  the  despe- 
rate valor  of  a  man  who  feels  his  own  stake  is  greatest  in  the 
field.  As  he  most  distrusted  the  infantry,  so,  amongst  the  infan- 
try he  chiefly  bestowed  his  presence ;  and,  wherever  he  ap- 
peared, he  sufficed,  for  the  moment,  to  turn  the  chances  of  the 
engagement.  At  length,  at  mid-day,  Ponce  de  Leon  led 
against  the  largest  detachment  of  the  Moorish  foot  a  strong 
and  numerous  battalion  of  the  best  disciplined  and  veteran 
soldiery  of  Spain.  He  had  succeeded  in  winning  a'  fortress, 
from  which  his  artillery  could  play  with  eff'ect ;  and  the  troops 
he  led  were  composed,  partly  of  men  flushed  with  recent  tri- 
umph, and  partly  of  a  fresh  reserve,  now  first  brought  into  the 
field,  A  comely  and  a  breathless  spectacle  it  was,  to  behold 
this  Christian  squadron  emerging  from  a  blazing  copse,  which 
they  fired  on  their  march  ;  the  red  light  gleaming  on  their  com- 
plete armor,  as,  in  steady  and  solemn  order  they  swept  on  to 
the  swaying  and  clamorous  ranks  of  the  Moorish  infantry. 
Boabdil  learned  the  danger  from  his  scouts  ;  and  hastily  quit- 
ting a  tower,  from  which  he  had,  for  a  while,  repulsed  a  hostile 
legion,  he  threw  himself  into  the  midst  of  the  battalions  men- 
aced by  the  skilful  Ponce  de  Leon.  Almost  at  the  same 
moment,  the  wild  and  ominous  apparition  of  Almamen,  long 
absent  from  the  eyes  of  the  Moors,  appeared  in  the  same  quar- 
ter, so  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  that  none  knew  whence  he 
had  emerged  ;  the  sacred  standard  in  his  left  hand — his  sabre, 
bared  and  dripping  gore,  in  his  right — his  face  exposed,  and 
its  powerful  features  working  with  an  excitement  that  seemed 
inspired  :  his  abrupt  presence  breathed  a  new  soul  into  the 
Moors. 

"  They  come  !  They  come  ! "  he  shrieked  aloud.  "  The 
God  of  the  East  hath  delivered  the  Goth  into  your  hands  ! " 

From  rank  to  rank — from  line  to  line — sped  the  santon  ; 
and,  as  the  mystic  banner  gleamed  before  the  soldiery,  each 
closed  his  eyes,  and  muttered  an  "amen"  to  his  adjurations. 


LEILA.  tig 

And  now,  to  the  cry  of  Spain  and  St.  lago,  came  trampling 
down  the  relentless  charge  of  the  Christian  war.  At  the  same 
instant,  from  the  fortress  lately  taken  by  Ponce  de  Leon,  the 
artillery  opened  upon  the  Moors,  and  did  deadly  havoc.  The 
Moslems  wavered  a  moment,  when  before  them  gleamed  the 
white  banner  of  Almamen  ;  and  they  beheld  him  rushing,  alone, 
and  on  foot,  amidst  the  foe.  Taught  to  believe  the  war  itself 
depended  on  the  preservation  of  the  enchanted  banner,  the 
Paynims  could  not  see  it  thus  rashly  adventured  without  anxiety 
and  shame  :  they  rallied,  advanced  firmly,  and  Boabdil  him- 
self, with  waving  cimiter  and  fierce  exclamations,  dashed 
impetuously,  at  the  head  of  his  guards  and  Ethiopians,  into 
the  affray.  The  battle  became  obstinate  and  bloody.  Thrice 
the  white  banner  disappeared  amidst  the  closing  ranks ;  and 
thrice,  like  a  moon  from  the  clouds,  it  shone  forth  again — the 
light  and  guide  of  the  Pagan  power. 

The  day  ripened  ;  and  the  hills  already  cast  lengthening 
shadows  over  the  blazing  groves  and  the  still  Darro,  whose 
waters,  in  every  creek  where  the  tide  was  arrested,  ran  red  with 
blood,  when  Ferdinand,  collecting  his  whole  reserve,  descended 
from  the  eminence  on  which  hitherto  he  had  posted  himself. 
With  him  moved  three  thousand  foot  and  a  thousand  horse, 
fresh  in  their  vigor  and  panting  for  a  share  in  that  glorious 
day.  The  King  himself,  who,  though  constitutionally  fearless, 
from  motives  of  policy  rarely  perilled  his  person,  save  on  im- 
minent occasions,  was  resolved  not  to  be  outdone  by  Boabdil ; 
and,  armed  cap-a-pied  in  mail,  so  wrought  with  gold  that  it 
seemed  nearly  all  of  that  costly  metal,  with  his  snow-white 
plumage  waving  above  a  small  diadem  that  surmounted  his 
lofty  helm,  he  seemed  a  fit  leader  to  that  armament  of  heroes. 
Behind  him  flaunted  the  great  gonfanon  of  Spain,  and  trump 
and  cymbal  heralded  his  approach.  The  Count  de  Tendilla 
rode  by  his  side. 

"Senor,"  said  Ferdinand,  "the  infidels  fight  hard  ;  but  they 
are  in  the  snare — we  are  about  to  close  the  nets  upon  them. 
But  what  cavalcade  is  this  ?" 

The  group  that  thus  drew  the  King's  attention  consisted  of 
six  squires,  bearing,  on  a  martial  litter,  composed  of  shields, 
the  stalwart  form  of  Hernando  del  Pulgar. 

"  Ah,  the  dogs  !  "  cried  the  King,  as  he  recognized  the  pale 
features  of  the  darling  of  the  army,  "  have  they  murdered  the 
bravest  knight  that  ever  fought  for  Christendom  ?  " 

"  Not  that,  your  Majesty,"  quoth  he  of  the  Exploits  faintly  ; 
"but  I  am  sorely  stricken." 


1X6  LEILA. 

"  It  must  have  been  more  than  man  who  struck  thee  down," 
said  the  King. 

"It  was  the  mace  of  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan,  an  please  you, 
sire,"  said  one  of  the  squires  ;  "but  it  came  on  the  good  knight 
unawares,  and  long  after  his  own  arm  had  seemingly  driven 
away  the  Pagan." 

"We  will  avenge  thee  well,"  said  the  King,  setting  his  teeth: 
"let  our  own  leeches  tend  thy  wounds.  '  Forward,  Sir  Knights  ! 
St.  lago  and  Spain  !  " 

The  battle  had  now  gathered  to  a  vortex  ;  Muza  and  his 
cavalry  had  joined  Boabdil  and  the  Moorish  foot.  On  the 
other  hand,  Villena  had  been  reinforced  by  detachments,  that, 
in  almost  every  other  quarter  of  the  field,  had  routed  the  foe. 
The  Moors  had  been  driven  back,  though  inch  by  inch  ;  they 
were  now  in  the  broad  space  before  the  very  walls  of  the  city, 
which  were  still  crowded  by  the  pale  and  anxious  faces  of  the 
aged  and  the  women  :  and  at  every  pause  in  the  artillery  the 
voices  that  spoke  of  home  were  borne  by  that  lurid  air  to  the 
ears  of  the  infidels.  The  shout  that  ran  through  the  Christian 
force,  as  Ferdinand  now  joined  it,  struck  like -a  death-knell 
upon  the  last  hope  of  Boabdil.  But  the  blood  of  his  fierce 
ancestry  burned  in  his  veins,  and  the  cheering  voice  of  Alma- 
men,  whom  nothing  daunted,  inspired  him  with  a  kind  of  su- 
perstitious frenzy. 

"  King  against  King — so  be  it !  Let  Allah  decide  between 
us  ! "  cried  the  Moorish  monarch.  "  Bind  up  this  wound — 'tis 
well !  A  steed  for  the  santon  !  Now,  my  prophet  and  my 
friend,  mount  by  the  side  of  thy  King — let  us,  at  least,  fall 
together,     Lelilies  !     Lelilies  !  " 

Throughout  the  brave  Christian  ranks  went  a  thrill  of  reluc- 
tant admiration,  as  they  beheld  the  Paynim  King,  conspicuous 
by  his  fair  beard  and  the  jewels  of  his  harness,  lead  the  scanty 
guard  yet  left  to  him  once  more  into  the  thickest  of  their  lines. 
Simultaneously  Muza  and  his  Zegris  made  their  fiery  charge  ; 
and  the  Moorish  infantry,  excited  by  the  example  of  their  leaders, 
followed  with  unslackened  and  dogged  zeal.  Tlie  Christians 
gave  way — they  were  beaten  back.  Ferdinand  spurred  for- 
ward ;  and,  ere  either  party  were  well  aware  of  it,  both  kings 
met  in  the  same  jnelde :  all  order  and  discipline,  for  tlie  moment, 
lost,  general  and  monarch  were,  as  common  soldiers,  fighting 
hand  to  hand.  It  was  then  that  Ferdinand,  after  bearing  down 
before  his  lance  Nairn  Reduon,  second  only  to  Muza  in  the 
songs  of  Granada,  beheld  opposed  to  him  a  strange  form,  that 
seemed  to  that  royal  Christian  rather  fiend  than  man  :  his  raven 


LEILA.  117 

hair  and  beard,  clotted  with  blood,  hung  like  snakes  about  a 
countenance  whose  features,  naturally  formed  to  give  expres- 
sion to  the  darkest  passions,  were  distorted  with  the  madness  of 
despairing  rage.  Wounded  in  many  places,  the  blood  dabbled 
his  mail  ;  while,  over  his  head,  he  waved  the  banner  wrought 
with  mystic  characters,  which  Ferdinand  had  already  been 
taught  to  believe  the  workmanship  of  demons. 

"  Now,  perjured  King  of  the  Nazarenes  ! "  shouted  this  for- 
midable champion,  "  we  meet  at  last !  No  longer  host  and 
guest,  monarch  and  dervise,  but  man  to  man  !  I  am  Alma- 
men  !     Die  ! " 

He  spoke  ;  and  his  sword  descended  so  fiercely  on  that 
anointed  head  that  Ferdinand  bent  to  his  saddle-bow.  But 
the  King  quickly  recovered  his  seat,  and  gallantly  met  the 
encounter;  it  was  one  that  might  have  tasked  to  the  utmost 
the  prowess  of  his  bravest  knight.  Passions  which,  in  their 
number,  their  nature,  and  their  excess,  animated  no  other 
champion  on  either  side,  gave  to  the  arm  of  Almamen,  the 
Israelite,  a  preternatural  strength ;  his  blows  fell  like  rain 
upon  the  harness  of  the  King  :  and  the  fiery  eyes,  the  gleaming 
banner  of  the  mysterious  sorcerer,  who  had  eluded  the  tor- 
tures of  his  Inquisition  ;  who  had  walked  unscathed  through 
the  midst  of  his  army  ;  whose  single  hand  had  consumed  the 
encampment  of  a  host,  filled  the  stout  heart  of  the  King  with 
a  belief  that  he  encountered  no  earthly  foe.  Fortunately,  per- 
haps, for  Ferdinand  and  Spain,  the  contest  did  not  last  long. 
Twenty  horsemen  spurred  into  the  melee  to  the  rescue  of  the 
plumed  diadem  :  Tendilla  arrived  the  first  ;  with  a  stroke  of 
his  two-handed  sword,  the  white  banner  was  cleft  from  its 
staff,  and  fell  to  the  earth.  At  that  sight,  the  Moors  around 
broke  forth  in  a  wild  and  despairing  cry  :  that  cry  spread  from 
rank  to  rank,  from  horse  to  foot ;  the  Moorish  infantry,  sorely 
pressed  on  all  sides,  no  sooner  learned  the  disaster  than  they 
turned  to  fly  :  the  rout  was  as  fatal  as  it  was  sudden.  The 
Christian  reserve,  just  brought  into  the  field,  poured  down  upon 
them  with  a  simultaneous  charge.  Boabdil,  too  much  engaged 
to  be  the  first  to  learn  the  downfall  of  the  sacred  insignia,  sud- 
denly saw  himself  almost  alone,  with  his  diminished  Ethiopians, 
and  a  handful  of  his  cavaliers. 

"  Yield  thee,  Boabdil  el  Chico  !  "  cried  Tendilla,  from  his 
rear,  or  thou  canst  not  be  saved." 

"By  the  Prophet,  never  !  "  exclaimed  the  King:  and  he 
dashed  his  barb  against  the  wall  of  spears  behind  him  ;  and 
with  but  a  score  or  so  of  his  guard,  cut  his  way  through  the 


Il8  LEILA, 

ranks  that  were  not  unwilling,  perhaps,  to  spare  so  brave  a 
foe.  As  he  cleared  the  Spanish  battalions,  the  unfortunate 
monarch  checked  his  horse  for  a  moment  and  gazed  along  the 
plain  :  he  beheld  his  army  flying  in  all  directions,  save  in  that 
single  spot  where  yet  glittered  the  turban  of  Muza  Ben  Abil 
Gazan.  As  he  gazed,  he  heard  the  panting  nostrils  of  the 
chargers  behind,  and  saw  the  levelled  spears  of  a  company 
despatched  to  take  him,  alive  or  dead,  by  the  command  of  Fer- 
dinand :  he  laid  the  reins  upon  his  horse's  neck,  and  galloped 
into  the  city — three  lances  quivered  against  the  portals  as  he 
disappeared  through  the  shadows  of  the  arch.  But  wliile 
Muza  remained,  all  was  not  yet  lost :  he  perceived  the  flight  of 
the  infantry  and  the  King,  and  with  his  followers  galloped 
across  the  plain  ;  he  came  in  time  to  encounter  and  slay,  to  a 
man,  the  pursuers  of  Boabdil  ;  he  then  threw  himself  before 
the  flying  Moors : 

**  Do  ye  fly  in  the  sight  of  your  wives  and  daughters  ? 
Would  ye  not  rather  they  beheld  ye  die  ?" 

A  thousand  voices  answered  him  :  "  The  banner  is  in  the 
hands  of  the  infidel — all  is  lost  !  "  They  swept  by  him,  and 
stopped  not  till  they  gained  the  gates. 

But  still  a  small  and  devoted  remnant  of  the  Moorish  cava- 
liers remained  to  shed  a  last  glory  over  defeat  itself.  With 
Muza,  their  soul  and  centre,  they  fought  every  atom  of  ground  : 
it  was,  as  the  chronicler  expresses  it,  as  if  they  grasped  the  soil 
with  their  arms.  Twice  they  charged  into  the  midst  of  the 
foe  :  the  slaughter  they  made  doubled  their  own  number ; 
but,  gathering  on  and  closing  in,  squadron  upon  squadron, 
came  the  whole  Christian  army — they  were  encompassed, 
wearied  out,  beaten  back,  as  by  an  ocean.  Like  wild  beasts, 
driven,  at  length,  to  their  lair,  they  retreated  with  their  faces 
to  the  foe  ;  and  when  Muza  came,  the  last, — his  cimiter  shiv- 
ered to  the  hilt — he  had  scarcely  breath  to  command  the  gates 
to  be  closed  and  the  portcullis  lowered,  ere  he  fell  from  his 
charger  in  a  sudden  and  deadly  swoon,  caused  less  by  his 
exhaustion  than  his  agony  and  shame.  So  ended  the  last 
battle  fought  for  the  Monarchy  of  Granada ! 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    NOVICE. 

It  was  in  one  of  the  cells  of  a  convent,  renowned  for  the 
piety  of  its  inmates,  and  the  wholesome  austerity  of  its  laws. 


LEILA.  119 

that  a  young  novice  sat  alone.  The  narrow  casement  was 
placed  so  high  in  the  cold  gray  wall  as  to  forbid  to  the  tenant 
of  the  cell  the  solace  of  sad,  or  the  distraction  of  pious, 
thoughts,  which  a  view  of  the  world  without  might  afford. 
Lovely,  indeed,  was  the  landscape  that  spread  below ;  but  it 
was  barred  from  those  youthful  and  melancholy  eyes  :  for 
Nature  might  tempt  to  a  thousand  thoughts,  not  of  a  tenor 
calculated  to  reconcile  the  heart  to  an  eternal  sacrifice  of  the 
sweet  human  ties.  But  a  faint  and  partial  gleam  of  sunshine 
broke  through  the  aperture,  and  made  yet  more  cheerless  the 
dreary  aspect  and  gloomy  appurtenances  of  the  cell.  And  the 
young  novice  seemed  to  carry  on  within  herself  that  struggle 
of  emotions,  without  which  there  is  no  victory  in  the  resolves 
of  virtue  :  sometimes  she  wept  bitterly,  but  with  a  low,  subdued 
sorrow,  which  spoke  rather  of  despondency  than  passion  ; 
sometimes  she  raised  her  head  from  her  breast,  and  smiled  as 
she  looked  upward,  or  as  her  eyes  rested  on  the  crucifix  and 
the  death's  head  that  were  placed  on  the  rude  table  by  the 
pallet  on  which  she  sate.  They  were  emblems  of  death  here, 
and  life  hereafter,  which,  perhaps,  afforded  to  her  the  sources 
of  a  two-fold  consolation. 

She  was  yet  musing,  when  a  slight  tap  at  the  door  was  heard, 
and  the  abbess  of  the  convent  appeared. 

"  Daughter,"  said  she,  "  I  have  brought  thee  the  comfort  of 
a  sacred  visitor.  The  Queen  of  Spain,  whose  pious  tenderness 
is  maternally  anxious  for  thy  full  contentment  with  thy  lot,  has 
sent  hither  a  holy  friar,  whom  she  deems  more  soothing  in  his 
counsels  than  our  brother  Tomas,  whose  ardent  zeal  often  ter- 
rifies those  whom  his  honest  spirit  only  desires  to  purify  and 
guide.  1  will  leave  him  with  thee.  May  the  saints  bless  his 
ministry!"  So  saying,  the  abbess  retired  from  the  threshold, 
making  way  for  a  form  in  the  garb  of  a  monk,  with  the  hood 
drawn  over  the  face.  The  monk  bowed  his  head  meekly,  ad- 
vanced into  the  cell,  closed  the  door,  and  seated  himself  on  a 
stool,  which,  save  the  table  and  the  pallet,  seemed  the  sole  fur- 
niture of  the  dismal  chamber. 

"  Daughter,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  "  it  is  a  rugged  and  a 
mournful  lot,  this  renunciation  of  earth  and  all  its  fair  desti- 
nies and  soft  affections,  to  one  not  wholly  prepared  and  armed 
for  the  sacrifice.  Confide  in  me,  my  child  ;  I  am  no  dire  in- 
quisitor, seeking  to  distort  thy  words  to  thine  own  peril.  I  am 
no  bitter  and  morose  ascetic.  Beneath  these  robes  still  beats 
a  human  heart,  that  can  sympathize  with  human  sorrows. 
Confide  in  me  without  fear.     Dost  thou  not  dread  the  fate  they 


I20  LEILA. 

would  force  upon  thee  ?  Dost  thou  not  shrink  back  ?  Wouldst 
thou  not  be  free  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  poor  novice  ;  but  the  denial  came  faint  and 
irresolute  from  her  lips. 

"  Pause,"  said  the  friar,  growing  more  earnest  in  his  tone  : 
"pause — there  is  yet  time," 

"  Nay,"  said  the  novice,  looking  up  with  some  surprise  in 
her  countenance  ;  "nay,  even  were  I  so  weak,  escape  now  is 
impossible.  What  hand  could  unbar  the  gates  of  the  con- 
vent?" 

**  Mine  !  "  cried  the  monk,  with  impetuosity.  **  Yes,  I  have 
that  power.  In  all  Spain,  but  one  man  can  save  thee,  and  I 
am  he." 

"You  !  "  faltered  the  novice,  gazing  at  her  strange  visitor 
with  mingled  astonishment  and  alarm.  "  And  who  are  you, 
that  could  resist  the  fiat  of  that  Tomas  de  'I'orquemada,  be- 
fore whom,  they  tell  me,  even  the  crowned  heads  of  Castile  and 
Arragon  vail  low  ? " 

The  monk  half  rose,  with  an  impatient  and  almost  haughty 
start,  at  this  interrogatory ;  but,  reseating  himself,  replied,  in  a 
deep  and  half-whispered  voice  :  "  Daughter,  listen  to  me  !  It 
is  true,  that  Isabel  of  Spain  (whom  the  Mother  of  Mercy  bless  ! 
for  merciful  to  all  is  her  secret  heart,  if  not  her  outward 
policy) — it  is  true  that  Isabel  of  Spain,  fearful  that  the  path  to 
heaven  might  be  made  rougher  to  thy  feet  than  it  well  need 
be  (there  was  a  slight  accent  of  irony  in  the  monk's  voice  as 
he  thus  spoke),  selected  a  friar  of  suasive  eloquence  and  gen- 
tle manners,  to  visit  thee.  He  was  charged  with  letters  to  yon 
abbess  from  the  Queen.  Soft  though  the  friar,  he  was  yet  a 
hypocrite.  Nay,  hear  me  out !  He  loved  to  worship  the  rising 
sun  ;  and  he  did  not  wish  always  to  remain  a  simple  friar, 
while  the  Church  had  higher  dignities  of  this  earth  to  bestow. 
In  the  Christian  camp,  daughter,  there  was  one  who  burned 
for  tidings  of  thee  ;  whom  thine  image  haunted  ;  who,  stern  as 
thou  V.  ert  to  him,  loved  thee  with  a  love  he  knew  not  of,  till 
thou  wert  lost  to  him.  Why  dost  thou  tremble,  daughter  ? 
Listen,  yet !  To  that  lover,  for  he  was  one  of  high  birth,  came 
the  monk  ;  to  that  lover  the  monk  sold  his  mission.  The  monk 
will  have  a  ready  tale,  that  he  was  waylaid  amidst  the  moun- 
tains by  armed  men,  and  robbed  of  his  letters  to  the  abbess. 
The  lover  took  his  garb,  and  he  took  the  letters  ;  and  he  hast- 
ened hither.    Leila  !    beloved  Leila  !    behold  him  at  thy  feet  !  " 

The  monk  raised  his  cowl  ;  and  dropping  on  his  knee  beside 
her,  presented  to  her  gaze  the  features  of  the  Prince  of  Spain. 


LEILA.  IZt 

"You!"  said  Leila,  averting  her  countenance  and.  vainly 
endeavoring  to  extricate  the  hand  which  he  had  seized.  "  This 
is  indeed  cruel.  You,  the  author  of  so  many  sufferings — such 
calumny — such  reproach  !  " 

"I  will  repair  all,"  said  Don  Juan  fervently.  "I  alone,  I 
repeat  it,  have  the  power  to  set  you  free.  You  are  no  longer  a 
Jewess  ;  you  are  one  of  our  faith  ;  there  is  now  no  bar  upon 
our  loves.  Imperious  though  my  father — all  dark  and  dread 
as  is  this  new  power  which  he  is  rashly  erecting  in  his  domin- 
ions, the  heir  of  two  monarchies  is  not  so  poor  in  influence  and 
in  friends,  as  to  be  unable  to  offer  the  woman  of  his  love  an 
inviolable  shelter,  alike  from  priest  and  despot.  Fly  with  me  I 
quit  this  dreary  sepulchre  ere  the  last  stone  close  over  thee  for- 
ever !  I  have  horses,  I  have  guards  at  hand.  This  night  it 
can  be  arranged.  This  night — oh,  bliss  ! — thoumayestbe  ren- 
dered up  to  earth  and  love  ! " 

"  Prince,"  said  Leila,  who  had  drawn  herself  from  Juan's 
grasp  during  this  address,  and  who  now  stood  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, erect  and  proud,  "  you  tempt  me  in  vain  ;  or  rather, 
you  offer  me  no  temptation.  I  have  made  my  choice  ;  I  abide 
by  it." 

"  Oh  !  bethink  thee,"  said  the  Prince,  in  a  voice  of  real  and 
imploring  anguish  ;  "  bethink  thee  well  of  the  consequences  of 
thy  refusal.  Thou  canst  not  see  them  yet  ;  thine  ardor  blinds 
thee.  But  when  hour  after  hour,  day  after  day,  year  after  year 
steals  on  in  the  appalling  monotony  of  this  sanctified  prison; 
when  thou  shalt  see  thy  youth  withering  without  love,  thine  age 
without  honor  ;  when  thy  heart  shall  grow  as  stone  within  thee, 
beneath  the  looks  of  yon  icy  spectres  ;  when  nothing  shall  vary 
the  aching  dulness  of  wasted  life,  save  a  longer  fast  or  a  severer 
penance  :  then,  then  will  thy  grief  be  rendered  tenfold  by  the 
despairing  and  remorseful  thought,  that  thine  own  lips  sealed 
thine  own  sentence.  Thou  mayest  think,"  continued  Juan, 
with  rapid  eagerness,  "  that  my  love  to  thee  was,  at  first,  light 
and  dishonoring.  Be  it  so.  I  own  that  my  youth  has  passed 
in  idle  wooings,  and  the  mockeries  of  affection.  But,  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life,  I  feel  that  I  love.  Thy  dark  eyes,  thy 
noble  beauty,  even  thy  womanly  scorn,  have  fascinated  me.  I — 
never  yet  disdained  where  I  have  been  a  suitor — acknowledge, 
at  last,  that  there  is  a  triumph  in  the  conquest  of  a  woman's 
heart.  Oh,  Leila  !  do  not — do  not  reject  me.  You  know  not 
how  rare  and  how  deep  a  love  you  cast  away." 

The  novice  was  touched  :  the  present  language  of  Don  Juan 
was  so  different  from  what  it  had  been  before ;  the  earnest  loye 


t22  LEILA. 

that  breathed  in  his  voice,  that  looked  from  his  eyes,  struck  a 
chord  in  her  breast  ;  it  reminded  her  of  her  own  unconquered, 
unconquerable  love  for  the  lost  Muza.  She  was  touched, 
then — touched  to  tears  ;  but  her  resolves  were  not  shaken. 

"  Oh,  Leila  !  "  resumed  the  Prince  fondly,  mistaking  the 
nature  of  her  emotion,  and  seeking  to  pursue  the  advantage  he 
imagined  he  had  gained,  "look  at  yonder  sunbeam,  struggling 
through  the  loophole  of  thy  cell.  Is  it  not  a  messenger  from 
the  happy  world  ?  Does  it  not  plead  for  me }  Does  it  not 
whisper  to  thee  of  the  green  fields,  and  the  laughing  vineyards, 
and  all  the  beautiful  prodigality  of  that  earth  thou  art  about 
to  renounce  forever?  Dost  thou  dread  my  love?  Are  the 
forms  around  thee,  ascetic  and  lifeless,  fairer  to  thine  eyes  than 
mine?  Dost  thou  doubt  my  power  to  protect  thee  ?  I  tell  thee 
that  the  proudest  nobles  of  Spain  would  flock  around  my  ban- 
ner, were  it  necessary  to  guard  thee  by  force  of  arms.  Yet, 
speak  the  word — be  mine — and  I  will  fly  hence  with  thee,  to 
climes  where  the  Church  has  not  cast  out  its  deadly  roots,  and, 
forgetful  of  crowns  and  cares,  live  alone  for  thee.     Ah,  speak  !  " 

"  My  lord,"  said  Leila  calmly,  and  rousing  herself  to  the 
necessary  effort,  "  I  am  deeply  and  sincerely  grateful  for  the 
interest  you  express,  for  the  affection  you  avow.  But  you 
deceive  yourself.  I  have  pondered  well  over  the  alternative  I 
have  taken.  I  do  not  regret  nor  repent — much  less  would  I 
retract  it.  The  earth  that  you  speak  of,  full  of  affections  and 
of  bliss  to  others,  has  no  ties,  no  allurements  for  me.  I  desire 
only  peace,  repose,  and  an  early  death." 

"  Can  it  be  possible,"  said  the  Prince,  growing  pale,  "  that 
thou  lovest  another  ?  Then,  indeed,  and  then  only,  would  my 
wooing  be  in  vain." 

The  cheek  of  the  novice  grew  deeply  flushed,  but  the  color 
soon  subsided:  she  murmured  to  herself:  "Why  should  I 
blush  to  own  it  now  ?"  and  then  spoke  aloud  :  "  Prince,  I  trust 
I  have  done  with  the  world ;  and  bitter  the  pang  I  feel  when 
you  call  me  back  to  it.  But  you  merit  my  candor  :  I  Aave 
loved  another;  and  in  that  thought,  as  in  an  urn,  lie  the  ashes 
of  all  affection.  That  other  is  of  a  different  faith.  We  may 
never — never  meet  again  below,  but  it  is  a  solace  to  pray  that 
we  may  meet  above.  That  solace,  and  these  cloisters,  are 
dearer  to  me  than  all  the  pomp,  all  the  pleasures,  of  the  world." 

The  Prince  sunk  down,  and,  covering  his  face  with  his 
hands,  groaned  aloud — but  made  no  reply. 

"  Go,  then,  Prince  of  Spain,"  continued  the  novice  ;  "  son 
of  the  noble  Isabel,  Leila  is  not  unworthy  of  her  cares.     Go, 


tfilLA.  i23 

ind  pursue  the  great  destinies  that  await  you.  And  if  you 
forgive — if  you  still  cherish  a  thought  of — the  poor  Jewish 
maiden,  soften,  alleviate,  mitigate,  the  wretched  and  desperate 
doom  that  awaits  the  fallen  race  she  has  abandoned  for  thy 
creed." 

"  Alas,  alas !  "  said  the  Prince  mournfully,  "  thee  alone,  per- 
chance, of  all  thy  race,  I  could  have  saved  from  the  bigotry 
that  is  fast  covering  this  knightly  land,  like  the  rising  of  an 
irresistible  sea — and  thou  rejectest  me  !  Take  time,  at  least, 
to  pause — to  consider.     Let  me  see  thee  again  to-morrow." 

*'  No,  Prince,  no — not  again  !  I  will  keep  thy  secret  only  if 
I  see  thee  no  more.  If  thou  persist  in  a  suit  that  I  feel  to  be 
that  of  sin  and  shame,  then,  indeed,  mine  honor — " 

"  Hold  !  "  interrupted  Juan,  with  haughty  impatience — "  I 
torment,  I  harass  you  no  more.  I  release  you  from  my  impor- 
tunity. Perhaps,  already,  I  have  stooped  too  low."  He  drew 
the  cowl  over  his  features,  and  strode  sullenly  to  the  door  ; 
but,  turning  for  one  last  gaze  on  the  form  that  had  so  strangely 
fascinated  a  heart  capable  of  generous  emotions,  the  meek  and 
despondent  posture  of  the  novice,  her  tender  youth,  her 
gloomy  fate,  melted  his  momentary  pride  and  resentment. 
"  God  bless  and  reconcile  thee,  poor  child  ! "  he  said,  in  a 
voice  choked  with  contending  passions,  and  the  door  closed 
upon  his  form. 

"I  thank  thee,  Heaven,  that  it  was  not  Muza  !"  muttered 
Leila,  breaking  from  a  revery,  in  which  she  seemed  to  be  com- 
muning with  her  own  soul  ;  "  I  feel  that  I  could  not  have 
resisted  him."  With  that  thought  she  knelt  down,  in  humble 
and  penitent  self-reproach,  and  prayed  for  strength. 

Ere  she  had  risen  fronvher  supplications,  her  solitude  was 
again  invaded  by  Torquemada,  the  Dominican. 

This  strange  man,  though  the  author  of  cruelties  at  which 
nature  recoils,  had  some  veins  of  warm  and  gentle  feeling, 
streaking,  as  it  were,  the  marble  of  his  hard  character  ;  and 
when  he  had  thoroughly  convinced  himself  of  the  pure  and 
earnest  zeal  of  the  young  convert,  he  relaxed  from  the  grim 
sternness  he  had  at  first  exhibited  towards  her.  He  loved  to 
exert  the  eloquence  he  possessed,  in  raising  her  spirit,  in 
reconciling  her  doubts.  He  prayed  for  her,  and  he  prayed 
beside  her,  with  passion  and  with  tears. 

He  stayed  long  with  the  novice ;  and,  when  he  left  her,  she 
was,  if  not  happy,  at  least  contented.  Her  warmest  wish  now, 
was  to  abridge  the  period  of  her  novitiate,  which,  at  her  desire, 
the  Church  had  already  rendered  merely  a  nominal  probation. 


ii4  tfelLA. 

She  longed  to  put  irresolution  out  of  her  power,  and  to  enter 
at  once  upon  the  narrow  road  through  the  strait  gate. 

The  gentle  and  modest  piety  of  the  young  novice  touched 
the  sisterhood  :  she  was  endeared  to  all  of  them.  Her  conver- 
sion was  an  event  that  broke  the  lethargy  of  their  stagnant 
life.  She  became  an  object  of  general  interest,  of  avowed 
pride,  of  kindly  compassion  ;  and  their  kindness  to  her  who 
from  her  cradle  had  seen  little  of  her  own  sex,  had  a  great 
effect  towards  calming  and  soothing  her  mind.  But,  at  night, 
her  dreams  brought  before  her  the  dark  and  menacing  coun- 
tenance of  her  father.  Sometimes  he  seemed  to  pluck  her 
from  the  gates  of  heaven,  and  to  sink  with  her  into  the  yawn- 
ing abyss  below.  Sometimes  she  saw  him  with  her  beside  the 
altar,  but  imploring  her  to  forswear  the  Saviour,  before  whose 
crucifix  she  knelt.  Occasionally  her  visions  were  haunted, 
also,  with  Muza — but  in  less  terrible  guise.  She  saw  his  calm 
and  melancholy  eyes  fixed  upon  her  ;  and  his  voice  asked  : 
"  Canst  thou  take  a  vow  that  makes  it  sinful  to  remember  me  ?  " 

The  night,  that  usually  brings  balm  and  oblivion  to  the  sad, 
was  thus  made  more  dreadful  to  Leila  than  the  day.  Her 
health  grew  feebler  and  feebler,  but  her  mind  still  was  firm. 
In  happier  time  and  circumstance  that  poor  novice  would  have 
been  a  great  character  ;  but  she  was  one  of  the  countless  vic- 
tims the  world  knows  not  of,  whose  virtues  are  in  silent 
motives,  whose  struggles  are  in  the  solitary  heart. 

Of  the  Prince  she  heard  and  saw  no  more.  There  were 
times  when  she  fancied,  from  oblique  and  obscure  hints,  that 
the  Dominican  had  been  aware  of  Don  Juan's  disguise  and 
visit.  But,  if  so,  that  knowledge  appeared  only  to  increase  the 
gentleness,  almost  the  respect,  which.  Torquemada  manifested 
towards  her.  Certainly,  since  that  day,  from  some  cause  or 
other,  the  priest's  manner  had  been  softened  when  he  ad- 
dressed her  ;  and  he  who  seldom  had  recourse  to  other  arts 
than  those  of  censure  and  of  menace,  often  uttered  sentiments 
half  of  pity  and  half  of  praise. 

Thus  consoled  and  supported  in  the  day — thus  haunted  and 
terrified  by  night,  but  still  not  repenting  her  resolve,  Leila  saw 
the  time  glide  on  to  that  eventful  day  when  her  lips  were  to 
pronounce  that  irrevocable  vow  which  is  the  epitaph  of  life. 
While  in  this  obscure  and  remote  convent  progressed  the  his- 
tory of  an  individual,  we  are  summoned  back  to  witness  the 
crowning  fate  of  an  expiring  dynasty. 


LEILA  125 


Chapter  hi. 

THE  PAUSE  BETWEEN  DEFEAT  AND  SURRENDER. 

The  unfortunate  Boabdil  plunged  once  more  amidst  the 
recesses  of  the  Alhambra.  Whatever  his  anguish,  or  his 
despondency,  none  were  permitted  to  share,  or  even  to  witness, 
his  emotions.  But  he  especially  resisted  the  admission  to  his 
solitude,  demanded  by  his  mother,  implored  by  his  faithful 
Amine,  and  sorrowfully  urged  by  Muza  :  those  most  loved,  or 
most  respected,  were,  above  all,  the  persons  from  whom  he 
most  shrunk. 

Almamen  was  heard  of  no  more.  It  was  believed  that  he 
had  perished  in  the  battle.  But  he  was  one  of  those  who, 
precisely  as  they  are  effective  when  present,  are  forgotten  in 
absence.  And,  in  the  mean  while,  as  the  Vega  was  utterly 
desolated,  and  all  supplies  were  cut  off,  famine,  daily  made 
more  terrifically  severe,  diverted  the  attention  of  each  humbler 
Moor  from  the  fall  of  the  city  to  his  individual  sufferings. 

New  persecutions  fell  upon  the  miserable  Jews.  Not  having 
taken  any  share  in  the  conflict  (as  was  to  be  expected  from  men 
who  had  no  stake  in  the  country  which  they  dwelt  in,  and  whose 
brethren  had  been  taught  so  severe  a  lesson  upon  the  folly  of 
interference),  no  sentiment  of  fellowship  in  danger  mitigated  the 
hatred  and  loathing  with  which  they  were  held  ;  and  as,  in  their 
lust  of  gain,  many  of  them  continued,  amidst  the  agony  and 
starvation  of  the  citizens,  to  sell  food  at  enormous  prices,  the 
excitement  of  the  multitude  against  them,  released,  by  the  state 
of  the  city,  from  all  restraint  and  law,  made  itself  felt  by  the 
most  barbarous  excesses.  Many  of  the  houses  of  the  Israelites 
were  attacked  by  the  mob,  plundered,  razed  to  the  ground,  and 
the  owners  tortured  to  death,  to  extort  confession  of  imaginary 
wealth.  Not  to  sell  what  was  demanded  was  a  crime  ;  to  sell 
it  was  a  crime  also.  These  miserable  outcasts  fled  to  whatever 
secret  places  the  vaults  of  their  houses  or  the  caverns  in  the 
hills  within  the  city  could  yet  afford  them,  cursing  their  fate, 
and  almost  longing  even  for  the  yoke  of  the  Christian  bigots. 

Thus  passed  several  days  ;  the  defence  of  the  city  abandoned 
to  its  naked  walls  and  mighty  gates.  The  glaring  sun  looked 
down  upon  closed  shops  and  depopulated  streets,  save  when 
some  ghostly  and  skeleton  band  of  the  famished  poor  collected, 
in  a  sudden  paroxysm  of  revenge  or  despair,  around  the 
stormed  and  fired  mansion  of  a  detested  Israelite, 

At  length,  Boabdil  aroused  himself  from  his  seclusion  ;  and 


126  LEILA. 

Muza,  to  his  own  surprise,  was  summoned  to  the  presence  of 
the  King.  He  found  Boabdil  in  one  of  the  most  gorgeous 
halls  of  his  gorgeous  palace. 

Within  the  Tower  of  Comares  is  a  vast  chamber,  still 
called  the  Hall  of  the  Ambassadors.  Here  it  was  that  Boabdil 
now  held  his  court.  On  the  glowing  walls  hung  trophies  and 
banners,  and  here  and  there  an  Arabian  portrait  of  some 
bearded  king.  By  the  windows,  which  overlooked  the  most 
lovely  banks  of  the  Darro,  gathered  the  santons  and  alfaquis,  a 
little  apart  from  the  main  crowd.  Beyond,  through  half-veiling 
draperies,  might  be  seen  the  great  court  of  the  Alberca,  whose 
peristyles  were  hung  with  flowers  ;  while,  in  the  centre,  the 
gigantic  basin,  which  gives  its  name  to  the  court,  caught  the 
sunlight  obliquely,  and  its  waves  glittered  on  the  eye  from 
amidst  the  roses  that  then  clustered  over  it. 

In  the  audience  hall  itself,  a  canopy,  over  the  royal  cushions 
on  which  Boabdil  reclined,  was  blazoned  with  the  heraldic 
insignia  of  Granada's  monarchs.  His  guards,  and  his  mutes, 
and  his  eunuchs,  and  his  courtiers,  and  his  counsellors,  and 
his  captains,  were  ranged  in  long  files  on  either  side  the  canopy. 
It  seemed  the  last  flicker  of  the  lamp  of  the  Moorish  empire, 
that  hollow  and  unreal  pomp  !  As  Muza  approached  the  mon- 
arch, he  was  startled  by  the  change  of  his  countenance  :  the 
young  and  beautiful  Boabdil  seemed  to  have  grown  suddenly 
old  ;  his  eyes  were  sunken,  his  countenance  sown  with  wrinkles, 
and  his  voice  sounded  broken  and  hollow  on  the  ears  of  his 
kinsman. 

"  Come  hither,  Muza,"  said  he  ;  "  seat  thyself  beside  me, 
and  listen  as  thou  best  canst  to  the  tidings  we  are  about  to 
hear." 

As  Muza  placed  himself  on  a  cushion,  a  little  below  the 
King,  Boabdil  motioned  to  one  amongst  the  crowd. 

"  Hamet,"  said  he,  "  thou  hast  examined  the  state  of  the 
Christian  camp  ;  what  news  dost  thou  bring  ? " 

"Light  of  the  Faithful,"  answered  the  Moor,  "it  is  a  camp 
no  longer — it  has  already  become  a  city.  Nine  towns  of  Spain 
were  charged  with  the  task  ;  stone  has  taken  the  place  of  can- 
vass ;  towers  and  streets  arise  like  the  buildings  of  a  genius  ; 
and  the  misbelieving  King  hath  sworn  that  this  new  city  shall 
not  be  left  until  Granada  sees  his  standard  on  its  walls." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Boabdil  calmly. 

"Traders  and  men  of  merchandise  flock  thither  daily;  the 
spot  is  one  bazaar  :  all  that  should  supply  our  famishing  conn- 
try  prours  its  plenty  into  their  mart." 


Leila.  ii^ 

Boabdil  motioned  to  the  Moor  to  withdraw,  and  an  alfaqui 
advanced  in  his  stead. 

"  Successor  of  the  Prophet  and  darling  of  the  world  ! "  said 
the  reverend  man,  "  the  alfaquis  and  seers  of  Granada  implore 
thee  on  their  knees  to  listen  to  their  voice.  They  have  con- 
sulted the  Books  of  Fate  ;  they  have  implored  a  sign  from  the 
Prophet  ;  and  they  find  that  the  glory  has  left  thy  people  and 
thy  crown.  The  fall  of  Granada  is  predestined — God  is 
great  !  " 

**  You  shall  have  my  answer  forthwith,"  said  Boabdil.  "  Ab- 
delemic,  approach." 

From  the  crowd  came  an  aged  and  white-bearded  man,  the 
governor  of  the  city. 

"  Speak,  old  man,"  said  the  King. 

"  Oh,  Boabdil !  "  said  the  veteran,  with  faltering  tones,  while 
the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks  ;  "  son  of  a  race  of  kings  and 
heroes  !  would  that  thy  servant  had  fallen  dead  on  thy  threshold 
this  day,  and  that  the  lips  of  a  Moorish  noble  had  never  been 
polluted  by  the  words  that  I  now  utter.  Our  state  is  hopeless  ; 
our  granaries  are  as  the  sands  of  the  desert ;  there  is  in  them 
life  neither  for  beast  nor  man.  The  war-horse  that  bore  the 
hero  is  now  consumed  for  his  food  ;  and  the  population  of  thy 
city,  with  one  voice,  cry  for  chains  and — bread  !  I  have 
spoken." 

"  Admit  the  ambassador  of  Egypt,"  said  Boabdil,  as  Abde- 
\emic  retired.  There  was  a  pause  :  one  of  the  draperies  at  the 
end  of  the  hall  was  drawn  aside  ;  and  with  the  slow  and  sedate 
majesty  of  their  tribe  and  land,  paced  forth  a  dark  and  swarthy 
train,  the  envoys  of  the  Egyptian  Soldan.  Six  of  the  band  bore 
costly  presents  of  gems  and  weapons,  and  the  procession  closed 
with  four  veiled  slaves,  whose  beauty  had  been  the  boast  of  the 
ancient  valley  of  the  Nile. 

"  Sun  of  Granada  and  day-star  of  the  faithful  ! "  said  the 
chief  of  the  Egyptians,  "  my  lord,  the  Soldan  of  Egypt,  delight 
of  the  world,  and  rose-tree  of  the  East,  thus  answers  to  the  let- 
ters of  Boabdil.  He  grieves  that  he  cannot  send  the  succor 
thou  demandest ;  and  informing  himself  of  the  condition  of 
thy  territories,  he  finds  that  Granada  no  longer  holds  a  seaport, 
by  which  his  forces  (could  he  send  them)  might  find  an  entrance 
into  Spain.  He  implores  thee  to  put  thy  trust  in  Allah,  who 
will  not  desert  bis  chosen  ones,  and  lays  these  gifts,  in  pledge 
of  amity  and  love,  at  the  feet  of  my  lord  the  King." 

"  It  is  a  gracious  and  well-timed  offering,"  said  Boabdil,  with 
a  writhing  lip  ;  "  we  thank  him."     There  was  now  a  long  and 


i28  LfelLA. 

dead  silence,  as  the  ambassadors  swept  from  the  hall  of  audi- 
ence :  when  Boabdil  suddenly  raised  his  head  from  his  breast, 
and  looked  around  his  hall  with  a  kingly  and  majestic  look  : 
"Let  the  heralds  of  Ferdinand  of  Spain  approach." 

A  groan  involuntarily  broke  from  the  breast  of  Muza  :  it 
was  echoed  by  a  murmur  of  abhorrence  and  despair  from  the 
gallant  captains  who  stood  around  ;  but  to  that  momentary 
burst  succeeded  a  breathless  silence,  as  from  another  drapery, 
opposite  the  royal  couch,  gleamed  the  burnished  mail  of  the 
knights  of  Spain.  Foremost  of  those  haughty  visitors,  whose 
iron  heels  clanked  loudly  on  the  tesselated  floor,  came  a  noble 
and  stately  form,  in  full  armor,  save  the  helmet,  and  with  a 
mantle  of  azure  velvet,  wrought  with  the  silver  cross  that  made 
the  badge  of  the  Christian  war.  Upon  his  manly  countenance 
was  visible  no  sign  of  undue  arrogance  or  exultation  ;  but  some- 
thing of  that  generous  pity  which  brave  men  feel  for  conquered 
foes  dimmed  the  lustre  of  his  commanding  eye,  and  softened 
the  wonted  sternness  of  his  martial  bearing.  He  and  his  train 
approached  the  King  with  a  profound  salutation  of  respect  ; 
and  falling  back,  motioned  to  the  herald  that  accompanied  him, 
and  whose  garb,  breast  and  back,  was  wrought  with  the  arms  of 
Spain,  to  deliver  himself  of  his  mission. 

"  To  Boabdil !  "  said  the  herald,  with  a  loud  voice,  that  filled 
the  whole  expanse,  and  thrilled  with  various  emotions  the  dumb 
assembly.  "  To  Boabdil  el  Chico,  King  of  Granada,  Ferdi- 
nand of  Arragon  and  Isabel  of  Castile  send  royal  greeting. 
They  command  me  to  express  their  hope  that  the  war  is  at 
length  concluded;  and  they  offer  to  the  King  of  Granada  such 
terms  of  capitulation  as  a  king,  without  dishonor,  may  receive. 
In  the  stead  of  this  city,  which  their  Most  Christian  Majesties 
will  restore  to  their  own  dominion,  as  is  just,  they  offer.  O 
King,  princely  territories  in  the  Alpuxarras  mountains  to  your 
sway,  holding  them  by  oath  of  fealty  to  the  Spanish  crown. 
To  the  people  of  Granada  their  Most  Christian  Majes- 
ties promise  full  protection  of  property,  life,  and  faith,  under  a 
government  by  their  own  magistrates,  and  according  to  their 
own  laws  ;  exemption  from  tribute  for  three  years  ;  and  taxes 
thereafter,  regulated  by  the  custom  and  ratio  of  their  present 
imposts.  To  such  Moors  as,  discontented  with  these  provis- 
ions, would  abandon  Granada,  are  promised  free  passage  for 
themselves  and  their  wealth.  In  return  for  these  marks  of 
their  royal  bounty,  their  Most  Christian  Majesties  summon 
Granada  to  surrender  (if  no  succor  meanwhile  arrive)  within 
seventy  days.     And  these  offers  are  now  solemnly  recorded  in 


L£ILA.  1^9 

the  presence,  and  through  the  mission,  of  the  noble  and  re- 
nowned knight,  Gonzalvo  of  Cordova,  deputed  by  their  Most 
Christian  Majesties  from  their  new  city  of  Santa  Fe." 

When  the  herald  had  concluded,  Boabdil  cast  his  eye  over 
his  thronged  and  splendid  court.  No  glance  of  fire  met  his 
own  ;  amidst  the  silent  crowd,  a  resigned  content  was  alone 
to  be  perceived  ;  the  proposals  exceeded  the  hope  of  the 
besieged. 

"  And,"  asked  Boabdil,  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh,  "  if  we 
reject  these  offers  ?  " 

"  Noble  Prince,"  said  Gonzalvo  earnestly,  "  ask  us  not  to 
wound  thine  ears  with  the  alternative.  Pause,  and  consider  of 
our  offers  ;  and,  if  thou  doubtest,  O  brave  King  !  mount  the 
towers  of  thine  Alhambra,  survey  our  legions  marshalled 
beneath  thy  walls,  and  turn  thine  eyes  upon  a  brave  people, 
defeated,  not  by  human  valor,  but  by  famine,  and  the  inscrut- 
able will  of  God." 

'*  Your  monarchs  shall  have  our  answer,  gentle  Christian, 
perchance  ere  nightfall.  And  you.  Sir  Knight,  who  hast 
delivered  a  message  bitter  for  kings  to  hear,  receive,  at  least, 
our  thanks  for  such  bearing  as  might  best  mitigate  the  import. 
Our  Vizier  will  bear  to  your  apartment  those  tokens  of  remem- 
brance that  are  yet  left  to  the  monarch  of  Granada  to  bestow." 

"Muza,"  resumed  the  King,  as  the  Spaniards  left  the  pres- 
ence— "  thou  hast  heard  all.  What  is  the  last  counsel  thou 
canst  give  thy  sovereign  ? " 

l"he  fierce  Moor  had  with  difficulty  waited  this  license  to 
utter  such  sentiments  as  death  only  could  banish  from  that 
unconquerable  heart.  He  rose,  descended  from  the  couch, 
and,  standing  a  little  below  the  King,  and  facing  the  motley 
throng  of  all  of  wise  or  brave  yet  left  to  Granada,  thus  spoke : 

"Why should  we  surrender?  Two  hundred  thousand  inhab- 
itants are  yet  within  our  walls ;  of  these,  twenty  thousand,  at 
least,  are  Moors,  who  have  hands  and  swords.  Why  should 
we  surrender?  Famine  presses  us,  it  is  true  ;  but  hunger,  that 
makes  the  lion  more  terrible,  shall  it  make  the  man  more  base? 
Do  ye  despair?  So  be  it !  Despair,  in  the  valiant,  ought  to 
have  an  irresistible  force.  Despair  has  made  cowards  brave  : 
shall  it  sink  the  brave  to  cowards  ?  Let  us  arouse  the  people  ; 
hitherto,  we  have  depended  too  much  upon  the  nobles.  Let 
us  collect  our  whole  force,  and  march  upon  this  new  city, 
while  the  soldiers  of  Spain  are  employed  in  their  new  pro- 
fession of  architects  and  builders.  Hear  me,  0  God  and 
Prophet  of  the  Moslem  !  hear  one  who  never  was  forsworn  ! 


ijb  LEILA. 

If,  Moors  of  Granada,  ye  adopt  my  counsel,  I  cannot  promise 
ye  victory,  but  I  promise  ye  never  to  live  witliout  it :  I  promise 
ye,  at  least,  your  independence — for  the  dead  know  no  chains  ! 
If  we  cannot  live,  let  us  so  die  that  Ave  may  leave,  to  remotest 
ages,  a  glory  that  shall  be  more  durable  than  kingdoms. 
King  of  Granada !  this  is  the  counsel  of  Muza  Ben  Abil 
Gazan." 

The  Prince  ceased.  But  he,  whose  faintest  word  had  once 
breathed  fire  into  the  dullest,  had  now  poured  out  his  spirit 
upon  frigid  and  lifeless  matter.  No  mail  answered — no  man 
moved. 

Boabdil  alone,  clinging  to  the  shadow  of  hope,  turned  at 
last  towards  the  audience. 

"  Warriors  and  sages  !  "  he  said,  "  as  Muza's  counsel  is  your 
King's  desire,  say  but  the  word,  and,  ere  the  hour-glass  shed 
its  last  sand,  the  blast  of  our  trumpet  shall  be  ringing  through 
the  Vivarrambla." 

"  O  King  !  fight  not  against  the  will  of  Fate — God  is  great !  " 
replied  the  chief  of  the  alfaquis. 

"  Alas  ! "  said  Abdelemic,  "  if  the  voice  of  Muza  and  your 
own  fall  thus  coldly  upon  us,  how  can  ye  stir  the  breadless 
and  heartless  multitude?" 

"  Is  such  your  general  thought  and  your  general  will?"  said 
Boabdil. 

An  universal  murmur  answered,  **  Yes  !  " 

"  Go  then,  Abdelemic,"  resumed  the  ill-starred  King,  "  go 
with  yon  Spaniards  to  the  Christian  camp,  and  bring  us  back 
the  best  terms  you  can  obtain.  The  crown  has  passed  from 
the  head  of  El  Zogoybi ;  Fate  sets  her  seal  upon  my  brow. 
Unfortunate  was  the  commencement  of  my  reign,  unfortunate 
its  end.     Break  up  the  divan." 

The  words  of  Boabdil  moved  and  penetrated  an  audience, 
never  till  then  so  alive  to  his  gentle  qualities,  his  learned  wis- 
dom, and  his  natural  valor.  Many  flung  themselves  at  his  feet, 
with  tears  and  sighs  ;  and  the  crowd  gathered  round  to  touch 
the  hem  of  his  robe. 

Muza  gazed  at  them  in  deep  disdain,  with  folded  arms  and 
heaving  breast. 

"  Women,  not  men  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  ye  weep,  as  if  ye  had 
not  blood  still  left  to  shed  !  Ye  are  reconciled  to  the  loss  of 
liberty,  because  ye  are  told  ye  shall  lose  nothing  else.  Fools 
and  dupes  !  I  see,  from  the  spot  where  my  spirit  stands  above 
ye,  the  dark  and  dismal  future  to  which  ye  are  crawling  on 
your   knees  :    bondage  and  rapine — the   violence   of   lawless 


LEILA.  131 

lust — the  persecution  of  hostile  faith — your  gold  wrung  from  ye 
by  torture — your  national  name  rooted  from  the  soil.  Bear 
this,  and  remember  me  !  Farewell,  Boabdil  !  you  I  pity  not  ; 
for  your  gardens  have  yet  a  poison,  and  your  armories  a  sword. 
Farewell,  nobles  and  santons  of  Granada !  I  quit  my  country 
while  it  is  yet  free." 

Scarcely  had  he  ceased,  ere  he  had  disappeared  from  the 
hall.     It  was  as  the  parting  genius  of  Granada  ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    ADVENTURE    OF     THE   SOLITARY    HORSEMAN. 

It  was  a  burning  and  sultry  noon,  when,  through  a  small 
valley,  skirted  by  rugged  and  precipitous  hills,  at  the  distance 
of  several  leagues  from  Granada,  a  horseman  in  complete 
armor  wound  his  solitary  way.  His  mail  was  black  and  un- 
adorned ;  on  his  visor  waved  no  plume.  But  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  carriage  and  mien,  and  the  singular  beauty  of  his 
coal  black  steed,  which  appeared  to  indicate  a  higher  rank 
than  the  absence  of  page  and  squire,  and  the  plainness  of  his 
accoutrements,  would  have  denoted  to  a  careless  eye.  He  rode 
very  slowly ;  and  his  steed,  with  the  license  of  a  spoiled 
favorite,  often  halted  lazily  in  his  sultry  path  as  a  tuft  of 
herbage,  or  the  bough  of  some  overhanging  tree,  offered  its 
temptation.  At  length,  as  he  thus  paused,  a  noise  was  heard 
in  a  copse  that  clothed  the  decent  of  a  steep  mountain  ;  and 
the  horse  started  suddenly  back,  forcing  the  traveller  from  his 
revery.  He  looked  mechanically  upward,  and  beheld  the 
figure  of  a  man  bounding  through  the  trees,  with  rapid  and 
irregular  steps.  It  was  a  form  that  suited  well  the  silence  and 
solitude  of  the  spot  ;  and  might  have  passed  for  one  of  those 
stern  recluses — half  hermit,  half  soldier — who,  in  the  earlier 
crusades,  fixed  their  wild  homes  amidst  the  sands  and  caves  of 
Palestine.  The  stranger  supported  his  steps  by  a  long  staff. 
His  hair  and  beard  hung  long  and  matted  over  his  broad 
shoulders.  A  rusted  mail,  once  splendid  with  arabesque 
enrichments,  protected  his  breast ;  but  the  loose  gown — a  sort 
of  tartan,  which  descended  below  the  cuirass — was  rent  and 
tattered,  and  his  feet  bare  ;  in  his  girdle  was  a  short,  curved 
cimiter,  a  knife  or  dagger,  and  a^  parchment  roll,  clasped  and 
bound  with  iron. 

As  the  horseman  gazed  at  this  abrupt  intruder  on  the  soli- 
tude, his  frame  quivered  with  emotion  :  and,  raising  himself  to 


l$*  LEILA. 

his  full  height,  he  called  aloud  :  "  Fiend  or  santon — whatsoever 
thou  art — what  seekest  thou  in  these  lonely  places,  far  from  the 
King  thy  counsels  deluded,  and  the  city  betrayed  by  thy  false 
prophecies  and  unhallowed  charms?  " 

"  Ha  !  "  cried  Almamen,  for  it  was  indeed  the  Israelite  ;  "  by 
thy  black  charger,  and  the  tone  of  thy  haughty  voice,  I  know 
the  hero  of  Gxanada.  Rather,  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan,  why  art 
thou  absent  from  the  last  hold  of  the  Moorish  empire  ?" 

"  Dost  thou  pretend  to  read  the  future,  and  art  thou  blind  to 
the  present  ?  Granada  has  capitulated  to  the  Spaniard.  Alone 
1  have  left  a  land  of  slaves,  and  shall  seek,  in  our  ancestral 
Africa,  some  spot  where  the  footstep  of  the  misbeliever  hath 
not  trodden." 

"  The  fate  of  one  bigotry  is,  then,  sealed,"  said  Almamen 
gloomily  ;  "but  that  which  succeeds  it  is  yet  more  dark." 

**  Dog  !  "cried  Muza,  couching  his  lance,  "what  art  thou,  that 
thus  blasphemest? " 

"  A  Jew  !  "  replied  Almamen,  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  and 
drawing  his  cimiter  :  "a  despised  and  despising  Jew!  Ask 
you  more  ?  I  am  the  son  of  a  race  of  kings.  I  was  the  worst 
enemy  of  the  Moors,  till  I  found  the  Nazarene  more  hateful 
than  the  Moslem  ;  and  then  even  Muza  himself  was  not  their 
more  renowned  champion.  Come  on,  if  thou  wilt — man  to 
man  :  I  defy  thee  !  " 

"No,  no,"  muttered  Muza,  sinking  his  lance;  "thy  mail  is 
rusted  with  the  blood  of  the  Spaniard,  and  this  arm  cannot 
smite  the  slayer  of  the  Christian.     Part  we  in  peace." 

"  Hold,  Prince  ! "  said  Almamen,  in  an  altered  voice  :  "  is 
thy  country  the  sole  thing  dear  to  thee  ?  Has  the  smile  of 
woman  never  stolen  beneath  thine  armor  ?  Has  thy  heart 
never  beat  for  softer  meetings  than  the  encounter  of  a 
foe?" 

"Am  I  human,  and  a  Moor  ?"  returned  Muza.  "  For  once 
you  divine  aright ;  and,  could  thy  spells  bestow  on  these  eyes 
but  one  more  sight  of  the  last  treasure  left  to  me  on  earth,  I 
should  be  as  credulous  of  thy  sorcery  as  Boabdil." 

"  Thou  lovest  her  still,  then — this  Leila  ?  " 

"  Dark  necromancer,  hast  thou  read  my  secret  ?  And 
knowest  thou  the  name  of  my  beloved  one  ?  Ah  !  let  me 
believe  thee  indeed  wise,  and  reveal  to  me  the  spot  of  earth 
which  holds  the  delight  of  my  soul  !  Yes,"  continued  the 
Moor,  with  increased  emotion,  and  throwing  up  his  vizor,  as  if 
for  air — "  yes  ;  Allah  forgive  me  !  but,  when  all  was  lost  at 
Granada,  I  had  still  one  consolation  in  leaving  my  fated  birth- 


LEILA.  133 

place :  I  had  license  to  search  for  Leila ;  I  had  the  hope  to 
secure  to  my  wanderings  in  distant  lands  one  to  whose  glance 
the  eyes  of  the  houris  would  be  dim.  But  I  waste  words.  Tell 
me  where  is  Leila,  and  conduct  me  to  her  feet  ! " 

"  Moslem,  I  will  lead  thee  to  her,"  answered  Almamen,  gazing 
on  the  Prince  with  an  expression  of  strange  and  fearful  exulta- 
tion in  his  dark  eyes  :  "  I  will  lead  thee  to  her — follow  me.  It 
is  only  yesternight  that  I  learned  the  walls  that  confined  her  ; 
and  from  that  hour  to  this  have  I  journeyed  over  mountain 
and  desert,  without  rest  or  food." 

"  Yet  what  is  she  to  thee  ?"  asked  Muza  suspiciously. 

"  Thou  shalt  learn  full  soon.     Let  us  on." 

So  saying,  Almamen  sprang  forward  with  a  vigor  which  the 
excitement  of  his  mind  supplied  to  the  exhaustion  of  his  body. 
Muza  wonderingly  pushed  on  his  charger,  and  endeavored  to 
draw  his  mysterious  guide  into  conversation  :  but  Almamen 
scarcely  heeded  him.  And  when  he  broke  from  his  gloomy 
silence,  it  was  but  in  incoherent  and  brief  exclamations,  often 
in  a  tongue  foreign  to  the  ear  of  his  companion.  The  hardy 
Moor,  though  steeled  against  the  superstitions  of  his  race,  less 
by  the  philosophy  of  the  learned  than  the  contempt  of  the 
brave,  felt  an  awe  gather  over  him  as  he  glanced,  from  the 
giant  rocks  and  lonely  valleys,  to  the  unearthly  aspect  and 
glittering  eyes  of  the  reputed  sorcerer  ;  and  more  than  once 
he  muttered  such  verses  of  the  Koran  as  were  esteemed  by  his 
countrymen  the  counterspell  to  the  machinations  of  the  evil 
genii. 

It  might  be  an  hour  that  they  had  thus  journeyed  together, 
when  Almamen  paused  abruptly :  "  I  am  wearied,"  said  he 
faintly  ;  "  and,  though  time  presses,  I  fear  that  my  strength  will 
fail  me." 

"  Mount,  then,  behind  me,"  returned  the  Moor,  after  some 
natural  hesitation  :  "  Jew  though  thou  art,  I  will  brave  the 
contamination  for  the  sake  of  Leila." 

"  Moor  ! "  cried  the  Hebrew  fiercely,  "  the  contamination 
would  be  mine.  Things  of  the  yesterday,  as  thy  prophet  and 
thy  creed  are,  thou  canst  not  sound  the  unfathomable  loathing 
which  each  heart,  faithful  to  the  Ancient  of  Days,  feels  for  such 
as  thou  and  thine." 

"  Now,  by  the  Kaaba  !  "  said  Muza,  and  his  brow  became 
dark,  "another  such  word,  and  the  hoofs  of  my  steed  shall 
trample  the  breath  of  blasphemy  from  thy  body." 

"I  would  defy  thee  to  the  death,"  answered  Almamen  dis- 
dainfully ;  "  but  I  reserve  the  bravest  of  the  Moors  to  witness 


134  LEILA. 

z  deed  worthy  of  the  descendant  of  Jephtha.  But,  hist !  I  hear 
hoofs ! " 

Muza  listened  ;  and  his  sharp  ear  caught  a  distinct  ring  upon 
the  hard  and  rocky  soil.  He  turned  round,  and  saw  Almamen 
gliding  away  through  the  thick  underwood,  until  the  branches 
concealed  his  form.  Presently,  a  curve  in  the  path  brought  in 
view  a  Spanish  cavalier,  mounted  on  an  Andalusian  jennet ; 
the  horseman  was  gayly  singing  one  of  the  popular  ballads  of 
the  time  ;  and,  as  it  related  to  the  ieats  of  the  Spaniards 
against  the  Moors,  Muza's  haughty  blood  was  already  stirred, 
and  his  moustache  quivered  on  his  lip.  "I  will  change  the 
air,"  muttered  the  Moslem,  grasping  his  lance  ;  when,  as  the 
thought  crossed  him,  he  beheld  the  Spaniard  suddenly  reel  in 
his  saddle,  and  fall  prostrate  on  the  ground.  In  the  same 
instant,  Almamen  had  darted  from  his  hiding-place,  seized  the 
steed  of  the  cavalier,  mounted,  and,  ere  Muza  recovered  from 
his  surprise,  was  by  the  side  of  the  Moor, 

"  By  what  charm,"  said  Muza,  curbing  his  barb,  "  didst  thou 
fell  the  Spaniard — seemingly  without  a  blow?  " 

"As  David  felled  Goliah — by  the  pebble  and  the  sling," 
answered  Almamen  carelessly.  "  Now,  then,  spur  forward,  if 
thou  art  eager  to  see  thy  Leila." 

The  horsemen  dashed  over  the  body  of  the  stunned  and 
insensible  Spaniard.  Tree  and  mountain  glided  by  ;  gradually 
the  valley  vanished,  and  a  thick  forest  loomed  upon  their  path. 
Still  they  made  on,  though  the  interlaced  boughs,  and  the 
ruggedness  of  the  footing,  somewhat  obstructed  their  way ; 
until,  as  the  sun  began  slowly  to  decline,  they  entered  a  broad 
and  circular  space,  round  which  trees  of  the  eldest  growth 
spread  their  motionless  and  shadowy  boughs.  In  the  midmost 
sward  was  a  rude  and  antique  stone,  resembling  the  altar 
of  some  barbarous  and  departed  creed.  Here  Almamen 
abruptly  halted,  and  muttered  inaudibly  to  himself. 

"What  moves  thee,  dark  stranger?"  said  the  Moor;  "And 
why  dost  thou  mutter,  and  gaze  on  space  ?  " 

Almamen  answered  not,  but  dismounted,  hung  his  bridle  to 
a  branch  of  a  scathed  and  riven  elm,  and  advanced  alone  into 
the  middle  of  the  space.  "  Dread  and  prophetic  power  that 
art  within  me  !  "  said  the  Hebrew  aloud,  "  this,  then,  is  the 
spot,  that,  by  dream  and  vision,  thou  hast  foretold  me  wherein 
to  consummate  and  record  the  vow  that  shall  sever  from  the 
spirit  the  last  weakness  of  the  flesh.  Night  after  night  hast 
thou  brought  before  mine  eyes,  in  darkness  and  in  slumber,  the 
solemn  solitude  that  I  now  survey.     Be  it  so  :    I  am  prepared!" 


LEILA.  135 

Thus  speaking,  he  retired  for  a  few  moments  into  the  wood  ; 
collected  in  his  arms  the  dry  leaves  and  withered  branches 
which  cumbered  the  desolate  clay  ;  and  placed  the  fuel  upon 
the  altar.  Then,  turning  to  the  East,  and  raising  his  hands  on 
high,  he  exclaimed:  "Lo!  upon  this  altar,  once  worshipped, 
perchance,  by  the  heathen  savage,  the  last  bold  spirit  of  thy 
fallen  and  scattered  race  dedicates,  O  Ineffable  One !  that 
precious  offering  thou  didst  demand  from  a  sire  of  old. 
Accept  the  sacrifice  ! " 

As  the  Hebrew  ended  his  adjuration,  he  drew  a  phial  from 
his  bosom,  and  sprinkled  a  few  drops  upon  the  arid  fuel.  A 
pale  blue  flame  suddenly  leaped  up;  and, as  it  lighted  the  hag- 
gard but  earnest  countenance  of  the  Israelite,  Muza  felt  his 
Moorish  blood  congeal  in  his  veins,  and  shuddered,  though  he 
scarce  knew  why.  Almamen,  with  his  dagger,  severed  from 
his  head  one  of  his  long  locks,  and  cast  it  upon  the  flame.  He 
watched  it  until  it  was  consumed  ;  and  then,  with  a  stifled  cry, 
fell  upon  the  earth  in  a  dead  swoon.  The  Moor  hastened  to 
raise  him  ;  he  chafed  his  hands  and  temples  ;  he  unbuckled 
the  vest  upon  his  bosom  ;  he  forgot  that  his  comrade  was  a 
sorcerer  and  a  Jew,  so  much  had  the  agony  of  that  excitement 
moved  his  sympathy. 

It  was  not  till  several  minutes  had  elapsed,  that  Almamen, 
with  a  deep-drawn  sigh,  recovered  from  his  swoon.  "Ah, 
beloved  one  !  bride  of  my  heart !  "  he  murmured,  "  was  it  for 
this  that  thou  didst  commend  to  me  the  only  pledge  of  our 
youthful  love  ?  Forgive  me !  I  restore  her  to  the  earth, 
untainted  by  the  Gentile."  He  closed  his  eyes  again,  and  a 
strong  convulsion  shook  his  frame.  It  passed  ;  and  he  rose 
as  a  man  from  a  fearful  dream,  composed,  and  almost,  as  it 
were,  refreshed,  by  the  terrors  he  had  undergone.  The  last 
glimmer  of  the  ghastly  light  was  dying  away  upon  that  ancient 
altar,  and  a  low  wind  crept  sighing  through  the  trees, 

"Mount,  Prince,"  said  Almamen  calmly,  but  averting  his 
eyes  from  the  altar ;  "we  shall  have  no  more  delays." 

"Wilt  thou  not  explain  thy  incantation  ?"  asked  Muza  ;  "Or 
is  it,  as  my  reason  tells  me,  but  the  mummery  of  a  juggler?" 

"  Alas  !  alas  !  "  answered  Almamen,  in  a  sad  and  altered 
tone,  "  thou  wilt  soon  know  all," 


136  LEILA. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    SACRIFICE. 

The  sun  was  now  sinking  slowly  through  those  masses  of 
purple  cloud  which  belong  to  Iberian  skies  ;  when,  emerging 
from  the  forest,  the  travellers  saw  before  them  a  small  and 
lovely  plain,  cultivated  like  a  garden.  Rows  of  orange  and 
citron  trees  were  backed  by  the  dark  green  foliage  of  vines  ; 
and,  these,  again,  found  a  barrier  in  girdling  copses  of  chestnut, 
oak,  and  the  deeper  verdure  of  pines  :  while,  far  to  the  horizon, 
rose  the  distant  and  dim  outline  of  the  mountain  range,  scarcely 
distinguishable  from  the  mellow  colorings  of  the  heaven. 
Through  this  charming  spot  went  a  slender  and  sparkling  tor- 
rent, that  collected  its  waters  in  a  circular  basin,  over  which 
the  rose  and  orange  hung  their  contrasted  blossoms.  On  a 
gentle  eminence,  above  this  plain,  or  garden,  rose  the  spires  of 
a  convent :  and,  though  it  was  still  clear  daylight,  the  long  and 
pointed  lattices  were  illumined  within,  and,  as  the  horsemen 
cast  their  eyes  upon  the  pile,  the  sound  of  the  holy  chorus — 
made  more  sweet  and  solemn  from  its  own  indistinctness,  from 
the  quiet  of  the  hour,  from  the  sudden  and  sequestered  loveli- 
ness of  that  spot,  suiting  so  well  the  ideal  calm  of  the  con- 
ventual life — rolled  its  music  through  the  odorous  and  lucent 
air. 

But  that  scene  and  that  sound,  so  calculated  to  soothe  and 
harmonize  the  thought,  seemed  to  arouse  Almamen  into  agony 
and  passion.  He  smote  his  breast  with  his  clenched  hand  ; 
and,  shrieking,  rather  than  exclaiming  :  God  of  my  fathers  ! 
have  I  come  too  late?"  buried  his  spurs  to  the  rowels  in  the 
sides  of  his  panting  steed.  Along  the  sward,  through  the 
fragrant  shrubs,  athwart  the  pebbly  and  shallow  torrent,  up  the 
ascent  to  the  convent,  sped  the  Israelite.  Muza,  wondering 
and  half  reluctant,  followed  at  a  little  distance.  Clearer  and 
nearer  came  the  voices  of  the  choir  ;  broader  and  redder  glowed 
the  tapers  from  the  Gothic  casements  :  the  porch  of  the  con- 
vent chapel  was  reached  ;  the  Hebrew  sprang  from  his  horse. 
A  small  group  of  the  peasants  dependent  on  the  convent  loitered 
reverently  round  the  threshold  :  pushing  through  them,  as  one 
frantic,  Almamen  entered  the  chapel  and  disappeared. 

A  minute  elapsed.  Muza  was  at  the  door ;  but  the  Moor 
paused  irresolutely,  ere  he  dismounted.  "  What  is  the  cere- 
mony ?  "  he  asked  of  the  peasants. 

"  A  nun  is  about  to  take  the  vows,"  answered  one  of  them. 


LEILA.  13/ 

A  cry  of  alarm,  of  indignation,  of  terror,  was  heard  within. 
Muza  no  longer  delayed  :  he  gave  his  steed  to  the  bystander, 
pushed  aside  the  heavy  curtain  that  screened  the  threshold, 
and  was  within  the  chapel. 

By  the  altar  gathered  a  confused  and  disordered  group — the 
sisterhood,  with  their  abbess.  Round  the  consecrated  rail 
flocked  the  spectators,  breathless  and  amazed.  Conspicuous 
above  the  rest,  on  the  elevation  of  the  holy  place,  stood  Alnia- 
nien,  with  his  drawn  dagger  in  his  right  hand,  his  left  arm 
clasped  around  the  form  of  a  novice,  whose  dress,  not  yet 
replaced  by  the  serge,  bespoke  her  the  sister  fated  to  the  veil : 
and,  on  the  opposite  side  of  that  sister,  one  hand  on  her  shoul- 
der, the  other  rearing  on  high  the  sacred  crucifix,  stood  a  stern, 
calm,  commanding  form,  in  the  white  robes  of  the  Dominican 
order  :  it  was  Tomas  de  Torquemada. 

"  Avaunt,  Abaddon  !  "  were  the  first  words  which  reached 
Muza's  ear,  as  he  stood,  unnoticed,  in  the  middle  of  the  aisle  : 
''  here  thy  sorcery  and  thine  arts  cannot  avail  thee.  Release 
the  devoted  one  of  God  !  " 

"  She  is  mine  !  She  is  my  daughter  !  I  claim  her  from 
thee  as  a  father,  in  the  name  of  the  great  Sire  of  Man  ! " 

"  Seize  the  sorcerer  !  Seize  him  !  "  exclaimed  the  Inquisi- 
tor, as,  with  a  sudden  movement,  Almamen  cleared  his  way 
through  the  scattered  and  dismayed  group,  and  stood  with  his 
daughter  in  his  arms,  on  the  first  step  of  the  consecrated  plat- 
form. 

But  not  a  foot  stirred,  not  a  hand  was  raised.  The  epithet 
bestowed  on  the  intruder  had  only  breathed  a  supernatural  ter- 
ror into  the  audience  ;  and  they  would  have  sooner  rushed 
upon  a  tiger  in  his  lair,  than  on  the  lifted  dagger  and  savage 
aspect  of  that  grim  stranger. 

"  Oh,  my  father !  "  then  said  a  low  and  faltering  voice,  that 
startled  Muza  as  a  voice  from  the  grave,  "wrestle  not  against 
the  decrees  of  Heaven.  Thy  daughter  is  not  compelled  to  her 
solemn  choice.  Humbly,  but  devotedly,  a  convert  to  the 
Christian  creed,  her  only  wish  on  earth  is  to  take  the  conse- 
crated and  eternal  vow." 

**  Ha  !  "  groaned  the  Hebrew,  suddenly  relaxing  his  hold,  as 
his  daughter  fell  on  her  knees  before  him,  "  then  have  I  indeed 
been  told,  as  I  have  foreseen,  the  worst.  The  veil  is  rent — the 
spirit  hath  left  the  temple.  Thy  beauty  is  desecrated  ;  thy 
form  is  but  unhallowed  clay.  Dog  ! "  he  cried,  more  fiercely, 
glaring  round  upon  the  unmoved  face  of  the  Inquisitor,  "  this 
is  thy  work  :  but  thou  shalt  not  triumph.     Here,  by  thine  own 


138  LEILA. 

shrine,  I  spit  at  and  defy  thee,  as  once  before,  amidst  the 
tortures  of  thy  inhuman  court.  Thus — thus — thus — Alma- 
men  the  Jew  delivers  the  last  of  his  house  from  the  curse  of 
Galilee  ! " 

"  Hold,  murderer  !  "  cried  a  voice  of  thunder  ;  and  an  armed 
man  burst  through  the  crowd  and  stood  upon  the  platform. 
It  was  too  late  :  thrice  the  blade  of  the  Hebrew  had  passed 
through  that  innocent  breast  ;  thrice  was  it  reddened  with  that 
virgin  blood.  Leila  fell  in  the  arms  of  her  lover  ;  her  dim  eyes 
rested  upon  his  countenance,  as  it  shone  upon  her,  beneath  his 
lifted  visor — a  faint  and  tender  smile  played  upon  her  lips — 
Leila  was  no  more. 

One  hasty  glance  Almamen  cast  upon  his  victim,  and  then, 
with  a  wild  laugh,  that  woke  every  echo  in  the  dreary  aisles,  he 
leaped  from  the  place.  Brandishing  his  bloody  weapon  above 
his  head,  he  dashed  through  the  coward  crowd  ;  and  ere  even 
the  startled  Dominican  had  found  a  voice,  the  tramp  of  his 
headlong  steed  rang  upon  the  air  ;  an  instant — and  all  was 
silent. 

But  over  the  murdered  girl  leaned  the  Moor,  as  yet  incredu- 
lous of  her  death  ;  her  head,  still  unshorn  of  its  purple  tresses, 
pillowed  on  his  lap,  her  icy  hand  clasped  in  his,  and  her  blood 
weltering  fast  over  his  armor.  None  disturbed  him  ;  for,  hab- 
ited as  the  knights  of  Christendom,  none  suspected  his  faith  ; 
and  all,  even  the  Dominican,  felt  a  thrill  of  sympathy  at  his  dis- 
tress. How  he  came  hither,  with  what  object,  what  hope,  their 
thoughts  were  too  much  locked  in  pity  to  conjecture.  There, 
voiceless  and  motionless,  bent  the  Moor,  until  one  of  the  monks 
approached  and  felt  the  pulse,  to  ascertain  if  life  was,  indeed, 
utterly  gone. 

The  Moor,  at  first,  waved  him  haughtily  away  ;  but,  when 
he  divined  the  monk's  purpose,  suffered  him  in  silence  to  take 
the  beloved  hand.  He  fixed  on  him  his  dark  and  imploring 
eyes  ;  and  when  the  father  dropped  the  hand,  and,  gently  shak- 
ing his  head,  turned  away,  a  deep  and  agonizing  groan  was  all 
that  the  audience  heard  from  that  heart  in  which  the  last  iron 
of  fate  had  entered.  Passionately  he  kissed  the  brow,  the 
cheeks,  the  lips,  of  the  hushed  and  angel  face,  and  rose  from 
the  spot. 

"  What  dost  thou  here  ?  And  what  knowest  thou  of  yon 
murderous  enemy  of  God  and  man  ?  "  asked  the  Dominican, 
approaching. 

Muza  made  no  reply,  as  he  stalked  slowly  through  the 
chapel.     The  audience  was  touched  to  sudden  tears.     "  For- 


LEILA.  139 

bear  !  "  said  they,  almost  with  one  accord,  to  the  harsh  Inquisi- 
tor ;  "he  hath  no  voice  to  answer  thee." 

And  thus,  amidst  the  oppressive  grief  and  sympathy  of  the 
Christian  throng,  the  unknov/n  Paynim  reached  the  door, 
mounted  his  steed,  and  as  he  turned  once  more  and  cast  a  hur- 
ried glance  upon  the  fatal  pile,  the  bystanders  saw  the  large 
tears  rolling  down  his  swarthy  cheeks. 

Slowly  that  coal-black  charger  wound  down  the  hillock, 
crossed  the  quiet  and  lovely  garden,  and  vanished  amidst  the 
forest.  And  never  was  known,  to  Moor  or  Christian,  the 
future  fate  of  the  hero  of  Granada.  Whether  he  reached  in 
safety  the  shores  of  his  ancestral  Africa,  and  carved  out  new 
fortunes  and  a  new  name  ;  or  whether  death,  by  disease  or  strife, 
terminated  obscurely  his  glorious  and  brief  career,  mystery — 
deep  and  unpenetrated,  even  by  the  fancies  of  the  thousand 
bards  who  have  consecrated  his  deeds — wraps  in  everlasting 
shadow  the  destinies  of  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan,  from  that  hour, 
when  the  setting  sun  threw  its  parting  ray  over  his  stately  form 
and  his  ebon  barb,  disappearing  amidst  the  breathless  shadows 
of  the  forest, 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  RETURN THE  RIOT — THE  TREACHERY — AND  THE  DEATH. 

It  was  the  eve  of  the  fatal  day  on  which  Granada  was  to  be 
delivered  to  the  Spaniards,  and  in  that  subterranean  vault  be- 
neath the  house  of  Almamen,  before  described,  three  elders  of 
the  Jewish  persuasion  were  met. 

Trusty  and  well-beloved  Ximen,"  cried  one,  a  wealthy  and 
usurious  merchant,  with  a  twinkling  and  humid  eye,  and  a  sleek 
and  unctuous  aspect,  which  did  not,  however,  suffice  to  dis- 
guise something  fierce  and  crafty  in  his  low  brow  and  pinched 
lips,  "  trusty  and  well-beloved  Ximen,"  said  this  Jew,  "truly 
thou  hast  served  us  well,  in  yielding  to  thy  persecuted  breth- 
ren this  secret  shelter.  Here,  indeed,  may  the  heathen  search 
for  us  in  vain.  Verily,  my  veins  grow  warm  again ;  and  thy 
servant  hungereth,  and  hath  thirst." 

"Eat,  Isaac — eat ;  yonder  are  viands  prepared  for  thee  ;  eat 
and  spare  not.  And  thou,  Elias — wilt  thou  not  draw  near  the 
board?     The  wine  is  old  and  precious  and  will  revive  thee." 

"  Ashes  and  hyssop — hyssop  and  ashes,  are  food  and  drink 
for  me  !  "  answered  Elias,  with  passionate  bitterness  ;  they 
have  razed  my  house;  they  have  burned  my  granaries  ;  they 
have  molten  down  my  gold.     I  am  a  ruined  man  !  " 


I40  LEILA. 

"  Nay,"  said  Ximen,  who  gazed  at  him  with  a  malevolent  eye 
(for  so  utterly  had  years  and  serrows  mixed  with  gall  even  the 
one  kindlier  sympathy  he  possessed,  that  he  could  not  resist  an 
inward  chuckle  over  the  very  afflictions  he  relieved,  and  the 
very  impotence  he  protected);  "Nay,  Elias,  thou  hast  wealth 
yet  left  in  the  seaport  towns  sufficient  to  buy  up  half  Granada." 

'*  The  Nazarene  will  seize  it  all ! "  cried  Elias  ;  "  I  see  it 
already  in  his  grasp  !  " 

"  Nay,  thinkest  thou  so  ? — and  wherefore  ?  "  asked  Ximen, 
startled  into  sincere,  because  selfish,  anxiety. 

"  Mark  me  !  Under  license  of  the  truce,  I  went,  last  night, 
to  the  Christian  camp  :  I  had  an  interview  with  the  Christian 
King  ;  and  when  he  heard  my  name  and  faith,  his  very  beard 
curled  with  ire.  *  Hound  of  Belial ! '  he  roared  forth,  *  has  not 
thy  comrade  carrion,  the  sorcerer  Almamen,  sufficiently  de- 
ceived and  insulted  the  majesty  of  Spain  ?  For  his  sake,  ye 
shall  have  no  quarter.  Tarry  here  another  instant,  and  thy 
corpse  shall  be  swinging  to  the  winds  !  Go,  and  count  over 
thy  misgotten  wealth  :  just  census  shall  be  taken  of  it ;  and  if 
thou  defraudest  our  holy  impost  by  one  piece  of  copper,  thou 
shalt  sup  with  Dives  ! '  Such  was  my  mission  and  mine 
answer.  I  return  home  to  see  the  ashes  of  mine  house  !  Woe 
is  me !  " 

"  And  this  we  owe  to  Almamen,  the  pretended  Jew  !  "  cried 
Isaac,  from  his  solitary,  but  not  idle,  place  at  the  board. 

"  I  would  this  knife  were  at  his  false  throat  !  "  growled  Elias, 
clutching  his  poniard,  with  his  long,  bony  fingers. 

"  No  chance  of  that,"  muttered  Ximen  ;  "  he  will  return  no 
more  to  Granada.  The  vulture  and  the  worm  have  divided 
his  carcass  between  them  ere  this  ;  and  (he  added  inly,  with  a 
hideous  smile)  his  house  and  his  gold  have  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  old,  childless  Ximen." 

"This  is  a  strange  and  fearful  vault,"  said  Isaac,  quaffing  a 
large  goblet  of  the  hot  wine  of  the  Vega  ;  "  here  might  tiie 
Witch  of  Endor  have  raised  the  dead.  Yon  door — whither 
doth  it  lead?" 

"Through  passages  none,  that  I  know  of,  save  my  master, 
hath  trodden,"  answered  Ximen.  "  I  have  heard  that  they 
reach  even  to  the  Alhambra.  "  Come,  worthy  Elias  !  thy  form 
trembles  with  the  cold  :  take  this  wine." 

"  Hist!  "  said  Elias,  shaking  from  limb  to  limb  ;  "our  pur- 
suers are  upon  us — I  hear  a  step  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  door  to  which  Isaac  had  pointed  slowly 
opened,  and  Almamen  entered  the  vault. 


LEILA.  14c 

Had,  indeed,  a  new  Witch  of  Endor  conjured  up  the  dead, 
the  apparition  would  not  more  have  startled  and  appalled  that 
goodly  trio.  Elias,  griping  his  knife,  retreated  to  the  farthest 
end  of  the  vault.  Isaac  dropped  the  goblet  he  was  about  to 
drain,  and  fell  upon  his  knees.  Ximen,  alone — growing,  if 
possible,  a  shade  more  ghastly — retained  something  of  self- 
possession,  as  he  muttered  to  himself  :  "  He  lives  !  and  his 
gold  is  not  mine  !     Curse  him  !  " 

Seemingly  unconscious  of  the  strange  guests  his  sanctuary 
shrouded,  Almamen  stalked  on,  like  a  man  walking  in  his 
sleep. 

Ximen  roused  himself,  softly  unbarred  the  door  which 
admitted  to  the  upper  apartments,  and  motioned  to  his  com- 
rades to  avail  themselves  of  the  opening  :  but  as  Isaac — the 
first  to  accept  the  hint — crept  across,  Almamen  fixed  upon 
him  his  terrible  eye,  and  appearing  suddenly  to  awake  to  con- 
sciousness, shouted  out  :  "  Thou  miscreant,  Ximen  !  whom  hast 
thou  admitted  to  the  secrets  of  thy  lord  ?  Close  the  door — 
these  men  must  die  !  " 

"Mighty  master  !"  said  Ximen  calmly,  "is  thy  servant  to 
blame,  that  he  believed  the  rumor  that  declared  thy  death  ? 
These  men  are  of  our  holy  faith,  whom  I  have  snatched  from 
the  violence  of  the  sacrilegious  and  maddened  mob.  No  spot 
but  this  seemed  safe  from  the  popular  frenzy." 

"  Are  ye  Jews  ? "  said  Almamen.  "  Ah,  yes  !  I  know  ye 
now — things  of  the  market-place  and  bazaar  !  Oh,  ye  are 
Jews,  indeed  !     Go,  gc  !     Leave  me  ! " 

Waiting  no  further  license,  the  three  vanished  ;  but  ere  he 
quitted  the  vault,  Elias  turned  back  his  scowling  countenance 
on  Almamen  (who  had  sunk  again  into  an  absorbed  medita- 
tion), with  a  glance  of  vindictive  ire — Almamen  was  alone. 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Ximen  returned  to  seek  his 
master  ;  but  the  place  was  again  deserted. 

It  was  midnight  in  the  streets  of  Granada — midnight,  but  not 
repose.  The  multitude,  roused  into  one  of  their  paroxysms  of 
wrath  and  sorrow,  by  the  reflection  that  the  morrow  was  indeed 
the  day  of  their  subjection  to  the  Christian  foe,  poured  forth 
through  the  streets  to  the  number  of  twenty  thousand.  It  was 
a  wild  and  stormy  night  ;  those  formidable  gusts  of  wind,  which 
sometimes  sweep  in  sudden  winter  from  the  snows  of  the  Sierra 
Nevada,  howled  through  the  tossing  groves,  and  along  the  wind- 
ing streets.  But  the  tempest  seemed  to  heighten,  as  if  by  the 
sympathy  of  the  elements,  the  popular  storm  and  whirlwind- 
Brandishing  arms  and  torches,  and  gaunt  with  hunger,  the  dark 


t4>  LEILA. 

forms  of  the  frantic  Moors  seemed  like  ghouls,  or  spectres, 
rather  than  mortal  men  ;  as,  apparently  without  an  object,  save 
that  of  venting  their  own  disquietude,  or  exciting  the  fears 
of  earth,  they  swept  through  the  desolate  city. 

In  the  broad  space  of  the  Vivarrambla,  the  crowd  halted  ; 
irresolute  in  all  else,  but  resolved,  at  least,  that  something  for 
Granada  should  yet  be  done.  They  were,  for  the  most,  armed 
in  their  Moorish  fashion  ;  but  they  were  wholly  without  lead- 
ers :  not  a  noble,  a  magistrate,  an  officer,  would  have  dreamed 
of  the  hopeless  enterprise  of  violating  the  truce  with  Ferdinand. 
It  was  a  mere  popular  tumult — the  madness  of  a  mob  ;  but  not 
the  less  formidable,  for  it  was  an  Eastern  mob,  and  a  mob  with 
sword  and  shaft,  v/ith  buckler  and  mail — the  mob  by  which 
Oriental  empires  have  been  built  and  overthrown  !  There  in 
the  splendid  space  that  had  witnessed  the  games  and  tourna- 
ments of  that  Arab  and  African  chivalry — there,  where,  for 
many  a  lustrum,  kings  had  reviewed  devoted  and  conquering 
armies — assembled  those  desperate  men  ;  the  loud  winds  agita- 
ting their  tossing  torches,  that  struggled  against  the  moonless 
night. 

'*  Let  us  storm  the  Alhambra  !  "  cried  one  of  the  band:  "let 
us  seize  Boabdil,  and  place  him  in  the  midst  of  us  ;  let  us  rush 
against  the  Christians,  buried  in  their  proud  repose  !  " 

"  Lelilies,  Lelilies  ! — the  Keys  and  the  Crescent ! "  shouted 
the  mob. 

The  shout  died  :  and  at  the  verge  of  the  space  was  suddenly 
heard  a  once  familiar  and  ever-thrilling  voice. 

The  Moors  who  heard  it  turned  round  in  amaze  and  awe  ; 
and  beheld,  raised  upon  the  stone  upon  which  the  criers  or 
heralds  had  been  wont  to  utter  the  royal  proclamations,  the  form 
of  Almamen,  the  santon,  whom  they  had  deemed  already  with 
the  dead. 

"  Moors,  and  people  of  Granada  !"  he  said,  in  a  solemn,  but 
hollow  voice,  "  I  am  with  ye  still.  Your  monarch  and  your 
heroes  have  deserted  ye,  but  I  am  with  ye  to  the  last !  Go  not 
to  the  Alhambra  :  the  fort  is  impenetrable,  the  guard  faithful. 
Night  will  be  wasted,  and  day  bring  upon  you  the  Christian 
army.  March  to  the  gates  ;  pour  along  the  Vega  ;  descend  at 
once  upon  the  foe  !  " 

He  spoke,  and  drew  forth  his  sabre  ;  it  gleamed  in  the  torch- 
light— the  Moors  bowed  their  heads  in  fanatic  reverence,  the 
santon  sprang  from  the  stone,  and  passed  into  the  centre  of  the 
crowd. 

Then,  once  more,  arose  joyful  shouts.     The  multitude  had 


LEILA.  143 

found  a  leader  worthy  of  their  enthusiasm  ;  and  in  regular 
order  they  formed  themselves  rapidly,  and  swept  down  the 
narrow  streets. 

Swelled  by  several  scattered  groups  of  desultory  marauders 
(the  ruffians  and  refuse  of  the  city),  the  infidel  numbers  were 
now  but  a  few  furlongs  from  the  great  gate,  whence  they  had 
been  wont  to  issue  on  the  foe.  And  then,  perhaps,  had  the 
Moors  passed  these  gates,  and  reached  the  Christian  encamp- 
ment, lulled,  as  it  was,  in  security  and  sleep,  that  wild  army  of 
twenty  thousand  desperate  men  might  have  saved  Granada  ; 
and  Spain  might  at  this  day,  possess  the  only  civilized  empire 
which  the  faith  of  Mahomet  ever  founded. 

But  the  evil  star  of  Boabdil  prevailed.  The  news  of  the  in- 
surrection in  the  city  reached  him.  Two  aged  men  from  the 
lower  city  arrived  at  the  Alhambra,  demanded  and  obtained  an 
audience  ;  and  the  effect  of  that  interview  was  instantaneous 
upon  Boabdil.  In  the  popular  frenzy  he  saw  only  a  justifiable 
excuse  for  the  Christian  King  to  break  the  conditions  of  the 
treaty,  raze  the  city,  and  exterminate  the  inhabitants.  Touched 
by  a  generous  compassion  for  his  subjects,  and  actuated  no  less 
by  a  high  sense  of  kingly  honor,  which  led  him  to  preserve  a 
truce  solemnly  sworn  to,  he  once  more  mounted  his  cream- 
colored  charger,  with  the  two  elders  who  had  sought  him  by 
his  side  ;  and,  at  the  head  of  his  guard,  rode  from  the  Alhambra. 
The  sound  of  his  trumpets,  the  tramp  of  his  steeds  ;  the  voice 
his  heralds,  simultaneously  reached  the  multitude  ;  and,  ere 
they  had  leisure  to  decide  their  course,  the  King  was  in  the 
midst  of  them. 

"What  madness  is  this,  O  my  people  ?"  cried  Boabdil,  spur- 
ring into  the  midst  of  the  throng  ;  "Whither  would  ye  go?" 

"Against  the  Christian! — against  the  Goth!"  shouted  a 
thousand  voices.  "  Lead  us  on  !  The  santon  is  risen  from 
the  dead,  and  will  ride  by  thy  right  hand  !  " 

"Alas!"  resumed  the  King,  "  ye  would  march  against  the 
Christian  King !  Remember  that  our  hostages  are  in  his 
power  ;  remember  that  he  will  desire  no  better  excuse  to  level 
Granada  with  the  dust,  and  put  you  and  your  children  to  the 
sword.  We  have  made  such  treaty  as  never  yet  was  made 
between  foe  and  foe.  Your 'lives,  laws,  wealth — all  are  saved. 
Nothing  is  lost,  save  the  crown  of  Boabdil.  I  am  the  only  suf- 
ferer. So  be  it.  My  evil  star  brought  on  you  these  evil  des- 
tinies :  without  me,  you  may  revive  and  be  once  more  a  nation. 
Yield  to  fate  to-day,  and  you  may  grasp  her  proudest  awards 
to-morrow.     To  succumb  is  not  to  be  subdued.     But  go  forth 


144  LEILA 

against  the  Christians,  and  if  we  win  one  battle,  it  is  but  to 
incur  a  more  terrible  war  ;  if  you  lose,  it  is  not  honorable 
xapitulation,  but  certain  extermination,  to  which  you  rush ! 
Be  persuaded,  and  listen  once  again  to  your  King." 

The  crowd  were  moved,  were  softened,  were  half-convinced. 
They  turned,  in  silence,  towards  their  santon  ;  and  Almamen 
did  not  shrink  from  the  appeal ;  but  stood  forth  confronting 
the  King. 

"  King  of  Granada  !  "  he  cried  aloud,  *'  behold  thy  friend — 
thy  prophet !     Lo  !  I  assure  you  victory  !  " 

"Hold!"  interrupted  Boabdil,  "thou  hast  deceived  and 
betrayed  me  too  long  !  Moors  !  know  ye  this  pretended  san- 
ton ?  He  is  of  no  Moslem  creed.  He  is  a  hound  of  Israel, 
who  would  sell  you  to  the  best  bidder.     Slay  him  !  " 

"  Ha  !  "  cried  Almamen,  "  and  who  is  my  accuser  ?  " 

"  Thy  servant — behold  him  !  "  At  these  words  the  royal 
guards  lifted  their  torches,  and  the  glare  fell,  redly,  on  the 
death-like  features  of  Ximen. 

"Light  of  the  world  !  there  be  other  Jews  that  know  him," 
said  the  traitor. 

"  Will  ye  suffer  a  Jew  to  lead  ye,  O  race  of  the  Prophet  ? " 
cried  the  King. 

The  crowd  stood  confused  and  bewildered  :  Almamen  felt 
his  hour  was  come  ;  he  remained  silent,  his  arms  folded,  his 
brow  erect. 

"  Be  there  any  of  the  tribe  of  Moisa  amongst  the  crowd  ? " 
cried  Boabdil,  pursuing  his  advantage;  "if  so,  let  them  ap- 
proach and  testify  what  they  know."  Forth  came,  not  from 
the  crowd,  but  from  amongst  Boabdil's  train,  a  well-known 
Israelite  : 

"  We  disown  this  man  of  blood  and  fraud,"  said  Elias,  bow- 
ing to  the  earth  ;  "but  he  was  of  our  creed." 

"  Speak,  false  santon  !  art  thou  dumb?"  cried  the  King. 

"  A  curse  light  on  thee,  dull  fool  !  "  cried  Almamen  fiercely. 
"  What  matters  who  the  instrument  that  would  have  restored 
to  thee  thy  throne  ?  Yes  I  I,  who  have  ruled  thy  councils,  who 
have  led  thine  armies,  I  am  of  the  race  of  Joshua  and  of  Sam- 
uel— and  the  Lord  of  Hosts  is  the  God  of  Almamen  !  " 

A  shudder  ran  through  that  migTity  multitude  :  but  the  looks, 
the  mien,  and  the  voice  of  the  man  awed  them,  and  not  a 
weapon  was  raised  against  him.  He  might,  even  then,  have 
passed  scathless  through  the  crowd  ;  he  might  have  borne  to 
other  climes  his  burning  passions  and  his  torturing  woes  : 
but  his  care  for  life  was  past :  he  desired  but  to  curse  his 


LEILA,  145 

dupes  and  die.  He  paused,  looked  round,  and  burst  into  a 
laugh  of  such  bitter  and  haughty  scorn,  as  the  tempted  of 
earth  may  hear,  in  the  halls  below,  from  the  lips  of  Eblis. 

"  Yes,"  he  exclaimed,  "  such  I  am  !  I  have  been  your  idol 
and  your  lord  ;  I  may  be  your  victim,  but,  in  death,  I  am  your 
vanquisher.  Christian  and  Moslem  alike  my  foe,  I  would 
have  trampled  upon  both.  But  the  Christian,  wiser  than  you, 
gave  me  smooth  words  ;  and  I  would  have  sold  ye  to  his  pow- 
er :  wickeder  than  you,  he  deceived  me  ;  and  I  would  have 
crushed  him,  that  I  might  have  continued  to  deceive  and 
rule  the  puppets  that  ye  call  your  chiefs.  But  they  for  whom 
I  toiled,  and  labored,  and  sinned — for  whom  I  surrendered 
peace  and  ease,  yea,  and  a  daughter's  person  and  a  daughter's 
blood — they  have  betrayed  me  to  your  hands,  and  the  Curse  of 
Old  rests  with  them  evermore — Amen  !  The  disguise  is  rent : 
Almamen,  the  santon,  is  the  son  of  Issachar  the  Jew ! " 

More  might  he  have  said,  but  the  spell  was  broken.  With  a 
ferocious  yell,  those  living  waves  of  the  multitude  rushed  over 
the  stern  fanatic  ;  six  cimiters  passed  through  him,  and  he  fell 
not :  at  the  seventh  he  was  a  corpse.  Trodden  in  the  clay — 
then  whirled  aloft — limb  torn  from  limb — ere  a  man  c»uld  have 
drawn  breath  nine  times,  scarce  a  vestige  of  the  human  form 
was  left  to  the  mangled  and  bloody  clay. 

One  victim  sufficed  to  slake  the  wrath  of  the  crowd.  They 
gathered  like  wild  beasts  whose  hunger  is  appeased  around 
their  monarch,  who  in  vain  had  endeavored  to  stay  their  sum- 
mary revenge,  and  who  now,  pale  and  breathless,  shrunk  from 
the  passions  he  had  excited.  He  faltered  forth  a  few  words 
of  remonstrance  and  exhortation,  turned  the  head  of  his  steed, 
and  took  his  way  to  his  palace. 

The  crowd  dispersed,  but  not  yet  to  their  homes.  The  crime 
of  Almamen  worked  against  his  whole  race.  Some  rushed  to 
the  Jews'  quarter,  which  they  set  on  fire  ;  others  to  the  lonely 
mansion  of  Almamen. 

Ximen,  on  quitting  the  King,  had  been  before  the  mob. 
Not  anticipating  such  an  effect  of  the  popular  rage,  he  had 
hastened  to  the  house,  which  he  now  deemed  at  length  his  own. 
He  had  just  reached  the  treasury  of  his  dead  lord — he  had  just 
feasted  his  eyes  on  the  massive  ingots  and  glittering  gems  ;  in 
the  lust  of  his  heart  he  had  just  cried  aloud  :  "  And  these  are 
mine  !  "  when  he  heard  the  roar  of  the  mob  below  the  wall — 
when  he  saw  the  glare  of  their  torches  against  the  casement. 
It  was  in  vain  that  he  shrieked  aloud  :  "  I  am  the  man  that 
exposed  the  Jew  J  "  the  wild  winds  scattered  his  words  over  a 


146  LEILA. 

deafened  audience.  Driven  from  his  chamber  by  the  smoke 
and  flame,  afraid  to  venture  forth  amongst  the  crowd,  the  miser 
loaded  himself  with  the  most  precious  of  the  store  ;  he  de- 
scended the  steps,  he  bent  his  way  to  the  secret  vault,  when 
suddenly  the  floor,  pierced  by  tlie  flames,  crashed  under  him, 
and  the  fire  rushed  up  in  a  fiercer  and  more  rapid  volume,  as 
the  death-shriek  broke  through  that  lurid  shroud. 

Such  were  the  principal  events  of  the  last  night  of  the  Moor- 
ish dynasty  in  Granada. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   END. 

Day  dawned  upon  Granada :  the  populace  had  sought  their 
homes,  and  a  profound  quiet  wrapped  the  streets,  save  where, 
from  tlie  fires  committed  in  the  late  tumult,  was  yet  heard  the 
crash  of  roofs,  or  the  crackle  of  the  light  and  fragrant  timber 
employed  in  those  pavilions  of  the  summer.  The  manner  in 
which  the  mansions  of  Granada  were  built,  each  separated 
from  the  other  by  extensive  gardens,  fortunately  prevented  the 
flames  from  extending.  But  the  inhabitants  cared  so  little  for 
the  hazard,  that  not  a  single  guard  remained  to  watch  the  result. 
Now  and  then,  some  miserable  forms  in  the  Jewish  gown 
might  be  seen  cowering  by  the  ruins  of  their  house,  like  the 
souls  that,  according  to  Plato,  watch  in  charnels  over  their  own 
mouldering  bodies.  Day  dawned  and  the  beams  of  the  winter 
sun,  smiling  away  the  clouds  of  the  past  night,  played  cheer- 
ily on  the  murmuring  waves  of  the  Xenil  and  the  Darro. 

Alone,  upon  a  balcony  commanding  that  stately  landscape, 
stood  the  last  of  the  Moorish  kings.  He  had  sought  to  bring 
to  his  aid  all  the  lessons  of  the  philosophy  he  had  cultivated. 

*'  What  are  we,"  thought  the  musing  prince,  "  that  we  should 
fill  the  world  with  ourselves — we  kings  !  Earth  resounds  with 
the  crash  of  my  falling  throne  :  on  the  ear  of  races  unborn  the 
echo  will  live  prolonged.  But  what  have  I  lost  ? — nothing  that 
was  necessary  to  my  happiness,  my  repose  ;  nothing  save  the 
source  of  all  my  wretchedness,  the  Marah  of  my  life  !  Shall  I 
less  enjoy  heaven  and  earth,  or  thought  or  action,  or  man's 
more  material  luxuries  of  food  or  sleep — the  common  and  the 
cheap  desires  of  all  ?  Arouse  thee,  then,  O  heart  within  me  ! 
many  and  deep  emotions  of  sorrow  or  of  joy  are  yet.  left  to 
break  the  monotony  of  existence." 

He  paused  ;  and,  at  the  distance,   his  eye    fell  upon    th? 


lEtLA.  147 

lonely  minarets  of  the  distant  and  deserted  palace  of  Muza 
Ben  Abil  Gazan. 

"Thouwert  right,  then,"  resumed  the  King — "thou  wert 
right,  brave  spirit,  not  to  pity  Boabdil  :  but  not  because  death 
was  in  his  power  ;  man's  soul  is  greater  than  his  fortunes,  and 
there  is  majesty  in  a  life  that  towers  above  the  ruins  that  fall 
around  its  path."  He  turned  away,  and  his  cheek  suddenly  grew 
pale  ;  for  he  heard  in  the  courts  below,  the  tread  of  hoofs, 
the  bustle  of  preparation  :  it  was  the  hour  for  his  departure. 
His  philosophy  vanished  :  he  groaned  aloud,  and  re-entered 
the  chamber,  just  as  his  Vizier  and  the  chief  of  his  guard 
broke  upon  his  solitude. 

The  old  Vizier  attempted  to  speak,  but  his  voice  failed  him. 

"  It  is  time,  then,  to  depart,"  said  Boabdil  with  calmness  ; 
"  let  it  be  so  :  render  up  the  palace  and  the  fortress,  and  join 
thy  friend,  no  more  thy  monarch,  in  his  new  home." 

He  stayed  not  for  reply  :  he  hurried  on,  descended  to  the 
court,  flung  himself  on  his  barb,  and,  with  a  small  and  sad- 
dened train,  passed  through  the  gate  which  we  yet  survey,  by  a 
blackened  and  crumbling  tower,  overgrown  with  vines  and  ivy; 
thence,  amidst  gardens  now  appertaining  to  the  convent  of  the 
victor  faith,  he  took  his  mournful  and  unwitnessed  way. 
When  he  came  to  the  middle  of  the  hill  that  rises  above  those 
gardens,  the  steel  of  the  Spanish  armor  gleamed  upon  him,  as 
the  detachment  sent  to  occupy  the  palace  marched  over  the 
summit  in  steady  order  and  profound  silence. 

At  the  head  of  this  vanguard  rode,  upon  a  snow-white  pal- 
frey, the  Bishop  of  Avila,  followed  by  a  long  train  of  barefooted 
monks.  They  halted  as  Boabdil  approached,  and  the  grave 
Bishop  saluted  him  with  the  air  of  one  who  addresses  an  infi- 
del and  an  inferior.  With  the  quick  sense  of  dignity  common  to 
the  great,  and  yet  more  to  the  fallen,  Boabdil  felt,  but  resented 
not,  the  pride  of  the  ecclesiastic.  "  Go,  Christian,"  said  he 
mildly,  "  the  gates  of  the  Alhambra  are  open,  and  Allah  has 
bestowed  the  palace  and  the  city  upon  your  king  :  may  his 
virtues  atone  the  faults  of  Boabdil !  "  So  saying,  and  awaiting  no 
answer,  he  rode  on,  without  looking  to  the  right  or  left.  The 
Spaniards  also  pursued  their  way.  The  sun  had  fairly  risen 
above  the  mountains,  when  Boabdil  and  his  train  beheld,  from 
the  eminence  on  which  they  were,  the  whole  armament  of 
Spain  ;  and  at  the  same  moment,  louder  than  the  tramp  of 
horse,  or  the  flash  of  arms,  was  heard  distinctly  the  solemn 
chant  of  Te  Deum,  which  preceded  the  blaze  of  the  unfurled 
and  lofty  standards.     Boabdil,  himself  still  silent,  heard   the 


148  LEILA. 

groans  and  exclamations  of  his  train  ;  he  turned  to  cheer  or 
chide  them,  and  then  saw,  from  his  own  watch-tower,  with  the 
sun  shining  full  upon  its  pure  and  dazzling  surface,  the  silver 
cross  of  Spain.  His  Alhambra  was  already  in  the  hands  of  the 
foe  ;  while,  beside  that  badge  of  the  holy  war,  waved  the  gay 
and  flaunting  flag  of  St.  lago,  the  canonized  Mars  of  the 
chivalry  of  Spain. 

At  that  sight,  the  King's  voice  died  within  him  :  he  gave 
the  rein  to  his  barb,  impatient  to  close  the  fatal  ceremonial, 
and  did  not  slacken  his  speed  till  almost  within  bow-shot  of 
the  first  ranks  of  the  army.  Never  had  Christian  war  assumed 
a  more  splendid  and  imposing  aspect.  Far  as  the  eye  could 
reacli  extended  the  glittering  and  gorgeous  lines  of  that  goodly 
power,  bristling  with  sunlit  spears  and  blazoned  banners ; 
while  beside,  murmured,  and  glowed,  and  danced,  the  silver 
and  laughing  Xenil,  careless  what  lord  should  possess,  for  his 
little  day,  the  banks  that  bloomed  by  its  everlasting  course. 
By  a  small  mosque  halted  the  flower  of  the  army.  Surrounded 
by  the  archpriests  of  that  mighty  hierarchy,  the  peers  and 
princes  of  a  court  that  rivalled  the  Rolands  of  Charlemagne, 
was  seen  the  kingly  form  of  Ferdinand  himself,  with  Isabel  at 
his  right  hand,  and  the  high-born  dames  of  Spain ;  relieving 
with  their  gay  colors  and  sparkling  gems  the  sterner  splendor 
of  the  crested  helmet  and  polished  mail. 

Within  sight  of  the  royal  group,  Boabdil  halted,  composed 
his  aspect  so  as  best  to  conceal  his  soul,  and,  a  little  in  advance 
of  his  scanty  train,  but  never,  in  mien  and  majesty,  more  a  king, 
the  son  of  Abdallah  met  his  haughty  conquerer. 

At  the  sight  of  his  princely  countenance  and  golden  hair, 
his  comely  and  commanding  beauty,  made  more  touching  by 
youth,  a  thrill  of  compassionate  admiration  ran  through  that 
assembly  of  the  brave  and  fair.  Ferdinand  and  Isabel  slowly 
advanced  to  meet  their  late  rival — their  new  subject ;  and,  as 
Boabdil  would  have  dismounted,  the  Spanish  King  placed  his 
hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "  Brother  and  Prince,"  said  he, 
"forget  thy  sorrows  ;  and  may  our  friendship  hereafter  console 
thee  for  reverses,  against  which  thou  hast  contended  as  a  hero 
and  a  king — resisting  man,  but  resigned  at  length  to  God  !  " 

Boabdil  did  not  affect  to  return  this  bitter,  but  unintentional, 
mockery  of  compliment.  He  bowed  his  head,  and  remained  a 
moment  silent  ;  then  motioning  to  his  train,  four  of  his  officers 
approached,  and  kneeling  beside  Fredinand,  proffered  to  him, 
upon  a  silver  buckler,  the  keys  of  the  city. 

"OKing!"  then   said  Boabdil,    "accept  the  keys  of  the 


LEILA.  14$ 

last  hold  which  has  resisted  the  arms  of  Spain  !  The  empire 
of  the  Moslem  is  no  more.  Thine  are  the  city  and  the  people 
Granada :  yielding  to  thy  prowess,  they  yet  confide  in  thy 
mercy." 

"  They  do  well,"  said  the  King  ;  "  our  promises  shall  not  be 
broken.  But,  since  we  know  the  gallantry  of  Moorish  cavaliers, 
not  to  us,  but  to  gentler  hands,  shall  the  keys  of  Granada  be 
surrendered." 

Thus  saying,  Ferdinand  gave  the  keys  to  Isabel,  who  would 
have  addressed  some  soothing  flatteries  to  Boabdil :  but  the 
emotion  and  excitement  were  too  much  for  her  compassionate 
heart,  heroine  and  queen  though  she  was  ;  and,  when  she  lifted 
her  eyes  upon  the  clam  and  pale  features  of  the  fallen  monarch, 
the  tears  gushed  from  them  irresistibly,  and  her  voice  died  in 
murmurs.  A  faint  flush  overspread  the  features  of  Boabdil  and 
there  was  a  momentary  pause  of  embarrassment,  which  the 
Moor  was  the  first  to  break. 

"  Fair  Queen,"  said  he,  with  mournful  and  pathetic  dignity, 
"  thou  canst  read  the  heart  that  thy  generous  sympathy  touches 
and  subdues  :  this  is  thy  last,  nor  least,  glorious  conquest. 
But  I  detain  ye  :  let  not  my  aspect  cloud  your  triumph.  Suffer 
me  to  say  farewell." 

"  May  we  not  hint  at  the  blessed  possibility  of  conversion  ?  " 
whispered  the  pious  Queen,  through  her  tears,  to  her  royal 
consort. 

"  Not  now — not  now,  by  Saint  lago  !  "  returned  Ferdinand 
quickly,  and,  in  the  same  tone,  willing  himself  to  conclude  a 
a  painful  conference.  He  then  added  aloud  :  "  Go,  my  brother, 
and  fair  fortune  with  you  !     Forget  the  past." 

Boabdil  smiled  bitterly,  saluted  the  royal  pair  with  profound 
and  silent  reverence,  and  rode  slowly  on,  leaving  the  army 
below,  as  he  ascended  the  path  that  led  to  his  nevv  principality 
beyond  the  Alpuxarras.  As  the  trees  snatched  the  Moorish 
cavalcade  from  the  view  of  the  King,  Ferdinand  ordered  the 
army  to  recommence  its  march  ;  and  trumpet  and  cymbal 
presently  sent  their  music  to  the  ear  of  the  Moslems. 

Boabdil  spurred  on  at  full  speed,  till  his  panting  charger 
halted  at  the  little  village  where  his  mother,  his  slaves,  and  his 
faithful  Amine  (sent  on  before)  awaited  him.  Joining  these,  he 
proceeded  without  delay  upon  his  melancholy  path. 

They  ascended  that  eminence  which  is  the  pass  into  the 
Alpuxarras.  From  its  height,  the  vale,  the  rivers,  the  spires, 
the  towers  of  Granada,  broke  gloriously  upon  the  view  of  the 
little  band.     They  halted,  hiechanically  and  abruptly  :  every 


ISO  LEILA. 

eye  was  turned  to  the  beloved  scene.  The  proud  shame  of 
baffled  warriors,  the  tender  memories  of  home,  of  childhood, 
of  fatherland,  swelled  every  heart,  and  gushed  from  every  eye. 
Suddenly,  the  distant  boom  of  artillery  broke  from  the  citadel, 
and  rolled  along  the  sunlit  valley  and  crystal  river.  An 
universal  wail  burst  from  the  exiles  ;  it  smote — it  overpowered 
the  heart  of  the  ill-starred  King,  in  vain  seeking  to  wrap  himself 
in  Eastern  pride  or  stoical  philosophy.  The  tears  gushed  from 
his  eyes,  and  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

Then  said  his  haughty  mother,  gazing  at  him  with  hard  and 
disdainful  eyes,  in  that  unjust  and  memorable  reproach  which 
history  has  preserved  :  "  Ay,  weep  like  a  woman,  over  what 
thoucouldst  not  defend  like  a  man  ! " 

Boabdil  raised  his  countenance,  with  indignant  majesty, 
when  he  felt  his  hand  tenderly  clasped,  and,  turning  round,  saw 
Amine  by  his  side. 

"  Heed  her  not  !  heed  her  not,  Boabdil  ! "  said  the  slave  ; 
**  never  didst  thou  seem  to  me  more  noble  than  in  that  sorrow. 
Thou  wert  a  hero  for  thy  throne  ;  but  feel  still,  O  light  of  mine 
eyes,  a  woman  for  thy  people  !  " 

"  God  is  great !  "  said  Boabdil :  "  and  God  comforts  me  still  ! 
Thy  lips,  which  never  flattered  me  in  my  power,  have  no 
reproach  for  me  in  my  affliction  !  " 

He  said,  and  smiled  upon  Amine — it  was  her  hour  of  trumph. 

The  band  wound  slowly  on  through  the  solitary  defiles:  and 
that  place  where  the  King  wept,  and  the  woman  soothed,  is 
still  called  "  El  ultimo  suspiro  del  Moro,"  The  last  sigh 
OF  THE  Moor. 


THE    EN». 


THE  COMING  RACE 


INSCRIBED 


TO 


MAX    MULLER, 

IN  TRIBUTE   OF   RESPECT   AND   ADMIRATION, 


THE    COMING    RACE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

I  AM  a  native  of ,  in  the  United  States  of  America.     My 

ancestors  migrated  from  England  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II. ; 
and  my  grandfather  was  not  undistinguished  in  the  War  of 
Independence.  My  family,  therefore,  enjoyed  a  somewhat  high 
social  position  in  right  of  birth;  and  being  also  opulent,  they 
were  considered  disqualified  for  the  public  service.  My  father 
once  ran  for  Congress,  but  was  signally  defeated  by  his  tailor. 
After  that  event  he  interfered  little  in  politics,  and  lived  much 
in  his  library.  I  was  the  eldest  of  three  sons,  and  sent  at  the 
age  of  sixteen  to  the  old  country,  partly  to  complete  my  liter- 
ary education,  partly  to  commence  my  commercial  training  in 
a  mercantile  firm  at  Liverpool.  My  father  died  shortly  after  I 
was  twenty-one ;  and  being  left  well  off,  and  having  a  taste  for 
travel  and  adventure,  I  resigned,  for  a  time,  all  pursuit  of  the 
almighty  dollar,  and  became  a  desultory  wanderer  over  the 
face  of  the  earth. 

In  the  year  i8 — ,  happening  to  be  in ,  I  was  invited  by 

a  professional  engineer,  with  whom  I  had  made  acquaintance, 

to  visit  the  recess   of   the   mine,    upon   which   he   was 

employed. 

The  reader  will  understand,  ere  he  close  this  narrative,  my 
reason  for  concealing  all  clue  to  the  district  of  which  I  write, 
and  will  perhaps  thank  me  for  refraining  from  any  description 
that  may  tend  to  its  discovery. 

Let  me  say,  then,  as  briefly  as  possible,  that  I  accompanied 
the  engineer  into  the  interior  of  the  mine,  and  became  so 
strangely  fascinated  by  its  gloomy  wonders,  and  so  interested  in 
my  friend's  explorations,  that  I  prolonged  my  stay  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  descended  daily,  for  some  weeks,  into  the  vaults 
and  galleries  hollowed  by  nature  and  art  beneath  the  surface  of 
the  earth.  The  engineer  was  persuaded  that  far  richer  depos- 
its of  mineral  wealth  than  had  yet  been  detected,  would  be 
found   in  a  new   shaft   that   had   been  commenced   under  his 


6  THE    COMING    RACE. 

operations.  In  piercing  this  shaft  we  came  one  day  upon  a 
chasm  jagged  and  seemingly  charred  at  the  sides,  as  if  burst 
asunder  at  some  distant  period  by  volcanic  fires.  Down  this 
chasm  iny  friend  caused  himself  to  be  lowered  in  a  "cage," 
having  first  tested  the  atmosphere  by  the  safety-lamp.  He  re- 
mained nearly  an  hour  in  the  abyss.  When  he  returned  he 
was  very  pale,  and  with  an  anxious,  thoughtful  expression  of 
face,  very  different  from  its  ordinary  character,  which  was  open, 
cheerful,  and  fearless. 

He  said  briefly  that  the  descent  appeared  to  him  unsafe,  and 
leading  to  no  result;  and,  suspending  further  operations  in  the 
shaft,  we  returned  to  the  more  familiar  parts  of  the  mine. 

All  the  rest  of  that  day  the  engineer  seemed  preoccupied  by 
some  absorbing  thought.  He  was  unusually  taciturn,  and  there 
was  a  scared,  bewildered  look  in  his  eyes,  as  that  of  a  man  who 
has  seen  a  ghost.  At  night,  as  we  two  were  sitting  alone  in 
the  lodging  we  shared  together  near  the  mouth  of  the  mine,  I 
said  to  my  friend: 

"Tell  me  frankly  what  you  saw  in  that  chasm;  I  am  sure  it 
was  something  strange  and  terrible.  Whatever  it  be,  it  has 
left  your  mind  in  a  state  of  doubt.  In  such  a  case  two  heads 
are  better  than  one.     Confide  in  me." 

The  engineer  long  endeavored  to  evade  my  inquiries ;  but 
as,  while  he  spoke,  he  helped  himself  unconsciously  out  of  the 
brandy-flask  to  a  degree  to  which  he  was  wholly  unaccustomed, 
for  he  was  a  very  temperate  man,  his  reserve  gradually  melted 
away.  He  who  would  keep  himself  to  himself  should  imitate 
the  dumb  animals,  and  drink  water.  At  last  he  said:  "I  will 
tell  you  all.  When  the  cage  stopped,  I  found  myself  on  a 
ridge  of  rock;  and  below  me,  the  chasm,  taking  a  slanting 
direction,  shot  down  to  a  considerable  depth,  the  darkness  of 
which  my  lamp  could  not  have  penetrated.  But  through  it,  to 
my  infinite  surprise,  streamed  upward  a  steady,  brilliant  light. 
Could  it  be  any  volcanic  fire;  in  that  case,  surely  I  should 
have  felt  the  heat.  Still,  if  on  this  there  was  doubt,  it  was  of 
the  utmost  importance  to  our  common  safety  to  clear  it  up.  I 
examined  the  side  of  the  descent,  and  found  that  I  could  ven- 
ture to  trust  myself  to  the  irregular  projections  or  ledges,  at 
least  for  some  way.  I  left  the  cage  and  clambered  down.  As 
I  drew  near  and  nearer  to  the  light,  the  chasm  became  wider 
and  wider,  and  at  last  I  saw,  to  my  unmistakable  amaze,  a 
broad  level  road  at  the  bottom  of  the  abyss,  illumined  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach  by  what  seemed  artificial  gas-lamps  placed 
at  regular  intervals,  as  in  the  thoroughfare  of  a  great  city ;  and 


tHE    COMING    RACE.  f 

1  heard  confusedly  at  a  distance  a  hum  as  of  human  voices,  I 
know,  of  course,  that  no  rival  miners  are  at  work,  in  this  dis- 
trict. Whose  could  be  those  voices?  What  human  hands 
could  have  levelled  that  road  and  marshalled  those  lamps? 

"The  superstitious  belief,  common  to  miners,  that  gnomes 
or  fiends  dwell  within  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  began  to  seize 
me.  I  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  descending  further  and 
braving  the  inhabitants  of  this  nether  valley.  Nor  indeed 
could  I  have  done  so  without  ropes,  as  from  the  spot  I  had 
reached  to  the  bottom  of  the  chasm  the  sides  of  the  rock  sank 
down  abrupt,  smooth,  and  sheer.  I  retraced  my  steps  with 
some  difficulty.     Now  I  have  told  you  ail." 

"You  will  descend,  again?" 

"I  ought,  yet  I  feel  as  if  I  durst  not." 

"A  trusty  companion  halves  the  journey  and  doubles  the 
courage.  I  will  go  with  you.  We  will  provide  ourselves  with 
ropes  of  suitable  length  and  strength — and — pardon  me — you 
must  not  drink  more  to-night.  Our  hands  and  feet  must  be 
steady  and  firm  to-morrow." 

CHAPTER  II. 

With  the  morning  my  friend's  nerves  were  rebraced,  and  he 
was  not  less  excited  by  curiosity  than  myself.  Perhaps  more ; 
for  he  evidently  believed  in  his  own  story,  and  I  felt  consider- 
able doubt  of  it ;  not  that  he  would  have  wilfully  told  an  un- 
truth, but  that  I  thought  he  must  have  been  under  one  of  the 
hallucinations  which  seize  on  our  fancy  or  our  nerves  in  soli- 
tary, unaccustomed  places,  and  in  which  we  give  shape  to  the 
formless  and  sound  to  the  dumb. 

We  selected  six  veteran  miners  to  watch  our  descent ;  and  as 
the  cage  held  only  one  at  a  time,  the  engineer  descended  first; 
and  when  he  had  gained  the  ledge  at  which  he  had  before 
halted,  the  cage  re-arose  for  me.  I  soon  gained  his  side.  We 
had  provided  ourselves  with  a  strong  coil  of  rope. 

The  light  struck  on  my  sight  as  it  had  done  the  day  before 
on  my  friend's.  The  hollow  through  which  it  came  sloped 
diagonally:  it  seemed  to  me  a  diffused  atmospheric  light,  not 
like  that  from  fire,  but  soft  and  silvery,  as  from  a  northern  star. 
Quitting  the  cage,  we  descended,  one  after  the  other,  easily 
enough,  owing  to  the  juts  in  the  side,  till  we  reached  the  place 
at  which  my  friend  had  previously  halted,  and  which  was  a 
projection  just  spacious  enough  to  allow  us  to  stand  abreast. 
From  this  spot  the  chasm  widened  rapidly  like  the  lower  end 


%  THE    COMING    RACE. 

of  a  vast  funnel,  and  I  saw  distinctly  the  valley,  the  road,  the 
lamps  which  my  companion  had  described.  He  had  exagger- 
ated nothing.  I  heard  the  sounds  he  had  heard — a  mingled 
indescribable  hum  as  of  voices  and  a  dull  tramp  as  of  feet. 
Straining  my  eyes  farther  down,  I  clearly  beheld  at  a  distance 
the  outline  of  some  large  building.  It  could  not  be  mere  nat- 
ural rock,  it  was  too  symmetrical,  with  huge,  heavy.  Egyptian- 
like columns,  and  the  whole  lighted  as  from  within,  I  had  about 
me  a  small  pocket-telescope,  and  by  the  aid  of  this  I  could  dis- 
tinguish, near  the  building  I  mention,  two  forms  which  seemed 
human,  though  I  could  not  be  sure.  At  least  they  were  living, 
for  they  moved,  and  both  vanished  within  the  building.  We 
now  proceeded  to  attach  the  end  of  the  rope  we  had  brought 
with  us  to  the  ledge  on  which  we  stood,  by  the  aid  of  clamps 
and  grappling-hooks,  with  which,  as  well  as  with  necessary 
tools,  we  were  provided. 

We  were  almost  silent  in  our  work.  We  toiled  like  men 
afraid  to  speak  to  each  other.  One  end  of  the  rope  being  thus 
apparently  made  firm  to  the  ledge,  the  other,  to  which  we  fas- 
tened a  fragment  of  the  rock,  rested  on  the  ground  below,  a 
distance  of  some  fifty  feet.  I  was  a  younger  and  a  more  active 
man  than  my  companion,  and  having  served  on  board  ship  in 
my  boyhood,  this  mode  of  transit  was  more  familiar  to  me  than 
to  him.  In  a  whisper  I  claimed  the  precedence,  so  that  when 
I  gained  the  ground  I  might  serve  to  hold  the  rope  more  steady 
for  his  descent.  I  got  safely  to  the  ground  beneath,  and  the 
engineer  now  began  to  lower  himself.  But  he  had  scarcely 
accomplished  ten  feet  of  the  descent,  when  the  fastenings, 
which  we  had  fancied  so  secure,  gave  way,  or  rather  the  rock 
itself  proved  treacherous  and  crumbled  beneath  the  strain;  and 
the  unhappy  man  was  precipitated  to  the  bottom,  falling  just 
at  my  feet,  and  bringing  down  with  his  fall  splinters  of  the  rock, 
one  of  which,  fortunately  but  a  small  one,  struck  and  for  the 
time  stunned  me.  When  I  recovered  my  senses  I  saw  my 
companion  an  inanimate  man  beside  me,  life  utterly  extinct. 
While  I  was  bending  over  his  corpse  in  grief  and  horror,  I 
heard  close  at  hand  a  strange  sound  between  a  snort  and  a 
hiss ;  and  turning  instinctively  to  the  quarter  from  which  it 
came,  I  saw  emerging  from  a  dark  fissure  in  the  rock  a  vast 
and  terrible  head,  with  open  jaws  and  dull,  ghastly,  hungry 
eyes — the  head  of  a  monstrous  reptile  resembling  that  of  the 
crocodile  or  alligator,  but  infinitely  larger  than  the  largest 
creature  of  that  kind  I  had  ever  beheld  in  my  travels.  I 
started  to  my  feet  and  fled  down  the  valley  at  my  utmost 


THE    COMING     RACE.  g 

speed.  I  stopped  at  last,  ashamed  of  my  panic  and  my  flight, 
and  returned  to  the  spot  on  which  I  had  left  the  body  of  my 
friend.  It  was  gone;  doubtless  the  monster  had  already  drawn 
it  into  its  den  and  devoured  it.  The  rope  and  the  grappling- 
hooks  still  lay  where  they  had  fallen,  but  they  afforded  me  no 
chance  of  return ;  it  was  impossible  to  re-attach  them  to  the 
rock  above,  and  the  sides  of  the  rock  were  too  sheer  and 
smooth  for  human  steps  to  clamber.  I  was  alone  in  this 
strange  world,  amidst  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 

CHAPTER  III. 

Slowly  and  cautiously  I  went  my  solitary  way  down  the 
lamplit  road  and  towards  the  large  building  I  have  described. 
The  road  itself  seemed  like  a  great  Alpine  pass,  skirting  rocky 
mountains  of  which  the  one  through  whose  chasms  I  had 
descended  formed  a  link.  Deep  below  to  the  left  lay  a  vast 
valley,  which  presented  to  my  astonished  eye  the  unmistak- 
able evidences  of  art  and  culture.  There  were  fields  covered 
with  a  strange  vegetation,  similar  to  none  I  have  seen  above 
the  earth;  the  color  of  it  not  green,  but  rather  of  a  dull  leaden 
hue  or  of  a  golden  red. 

There  were  lakes  and  rivulets  which  seemed  to  have  been 
curved  into  artificial  banks;  some  of  pure  water,  others  that 
shone  like  pools  of  naphtha.  At  my  right  hand,  ravines  and 
defiles  opened  amidst  the  rocks,  with  passes  between,  evidently 
constructed  by  art,  and  bordered  by  trees  resembling,  for  the 
most  part,  gigantic  ferns,  with  exquisite  varieties  of  feathery 
foliage,  and  stems  like  those  of  the  palm-tree.  Others  were 
more  like  the  cane-plant,  but  taller,  bearing  large  clusters  of 
flowers.  Others,  again,  had  the  form  of  enormous  fungi,  with 
short,  thick  stems  supporting  a  wide  dome-like  roof,  from  which 
either  rose  or  dropped  long  slender  branches.  The  whole 
scene  behind,  before,  and  beside  me,  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  was  brilliant  with  innumerable  lamps.  The  world  with- 
out a  sun  was  bright  and  warm  as  an  Italian  landscape  at  noon, 
but  the  air  was  less  oppressive,  the  heat  softer.  Nor  was  the 
scene  before  me  void  of  signs  of  habitation.  I  could  distin- 
guish at  a  distance,  whether  on  the  banks  of  lake  or  rivulet,  or 
half-way  upon  eminences,  embedded  amidst  the  vegetation, 
buildings  that  must  surely  be  the  homes  of  men.  I  could  even 
discover,  though  far  off,  forms  that  appeared  to  me  human, 
moving  amidst  the  landscape.  As  I  paused  to  gaze,  I  saw  to 
the  right,  gliding  quickly  through  the  air,  what   appeared  a 


lO  THE    COMING     RAC£. 

small  boat,  impelled  by  sails  shaped  like  wings.  It  soon  passed 
out  of  sight,  descending  amidst  the  shades  of  a  forest.  Right 
above  me  there  was  no  sky,  but  only  a  cavernous  roof.  This 
roof  grew  higher  and  higher  at  the  distance  of  the  landscapes 
beyond,  till  it  became  imperceptible,  as  an  atmosphere  of  haze 
formed  itself  beneath. 

Continuing  my  walk,  I  started — from  a  bush  that  resembled 
a  great  tangle  of  seaweeds,  interspersed  with  fern-like  shrubs 
and  plants  of  large  leafage  shaped  like  that  of  the  aloe  or 
prickly  pear — a  curious  animal  about  the  size  and  shape  of  a 
deer.  But  as,  after  bounding  away  a  few  paces,  it  turned 
round  and  gazed  at  me  inquisitively,  I  perceived  that  it  was 
not  like  any  species  of  deer  now  extant  above  the  earth,  but  it 
brought  instantly  to  my  recollection  a  plaster  cast  I  had  seen 
in  some  museum  of  a  variety  of  the  elk  stag,  said  to  have  ex- 
isted before  the  Deluge.  The  creature  seemed  tame  enough, 
and,  after  inspecting  me  a  moment  or  two,  began  to  graze  on 
the  singular  herbage  around  undismayed  and  careless. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

I  NOW  came  in  full  sight  of  the  building.  Yes,  it  had  been 
made  by  hands,  and  hollowed  partly  out  of  a  great  rock.  I 
should  have  supposed  it  at  the  first  glance  to  have  been  of  the 
earliest  form  of  Egyptian  architecture.  It  was  fronted  by 
huge  columns,  tapering  upward  from  massive  plinths,  and  with 
capitals  that,  as  I  came  nearer,  I  perceived  to  be  more  orna- 
mental and  more  fantastically  graceful  than  Egyptian  archi- 
tecture allows.  As  the  Corinthian  capital  mimics  the  leaf  of 
the  acanthus,  so  the  capitals  of  these  columns  imitated  the 
foliage  of  the  vegetation  neighboring  them,  some  aloe-like, 
some  fern-like.  And  now  there  came  out  of  this  building  a 
form — human — was  it  human?  It  stood  on  the  broad  way  and 
looked  around,  beheld  me  and  approached.  It  came  within  a 
few  yards  of  me,  and  at  the  sight  and  presence  of  it  an  inde- 
scribable awe  and  tremor  seized  me,  rooting  my  feet  to  the 
ground.  It  reminded  me  of  symbolical  images  of  Genius  or 
Demon  that  are  seen  on  Etruscan  vases  or  limned  on  the  walls 
of  Eastern  sepulchres — images  that  borrow  the  outlines  of  man, 
and  yet  of  another  race.  It  was  tall,  not  gigantic,  but  tall  as 
the  tallest  men  below  the  height  of  giants. 

Its  chief  covering  seemed  to  me  to  be  composed  of  large 
wings  folded  over  its  breast  and  reaching  to  its  knees ;  the 
rest  of  its  attire  was  composed  of  an  under  tunic  and  leggings 


THE    COMING    RACE.  It 

of  some  thin  fibrous  material.  It  wore  on  its  head  a  kind  of 
tiara  that  shone  with  jewels,  and  carried  in  its  right  hand  a 
slender  staff  of  bright  metal  like  polished  steel.  But  the  face! 
it  was  that  which  inspired  my  awe  and  terror.  It  was  the  face 
of  man,  but  yet  of  a  type  of  man  distinct  from  our  own  extant 
races  The  nearest  approach  to  it  in  outline  and  expression  is 
the  face  of  the  sculptured  sphinx — so  regular  in  its  calm,  intel- 
lectual, mysterious  beauty.  Its  color  was  peculiar,  more  like 
that  of  the  red  man  than  any  other  variety  of  our  species,  and 
yet  different  from  it — a  richer  and  a  softer  hue,  with  large 
black  eyes,  deep  and  brilliant,  and  brows  arched  as  a  semi- 
circle. The  face  was  beardless;  but  a  nameless  something  in  the 
aspect,  tranquil  though  the  expression,  and  beauteous  though 
the  features,  roused  that  instinct  of  danger  which  the  sight  of 
a  tiger  or  serpent  arouses.  I  felt  that  this  manlike  image  was 
endowed  with  forces  inimical  to  man.  As  it  drew  near,  a  cold 
shudder  came  over  me.  I  fell  on  my  knees  and  covered  my 
face  with  my  hands. 

CHAPTER  V. 

A  VOICE  accosted  me — a  very  quiet  and  very  musical  key  of 
voice — in  a  language  of  which  I  could  not  understand  a  word, 
but  it  seemed  to  dispel  my  fear.  I  uncovered  my  face  and 
looked  up.  The  stranger  (I  could  scarcely  bring  myself  to 
call  him  man)  surveyed  me  with  an  eye  that  seemed  to  read  to 
the  very  depths  of  my  heart.  He  then  placed  his  left  hand  on 
my  forehead,  and  with  the  staff  in  his  right  gently  touched  my 
shoulder.  The  effect  of  this  double  contact  was  magical.  In 
place  of  my  former  terror  there  passed  into  me  a  sense  of  con- 
tentment, of  joy,  of  confidence  in  myself  and  in  the  being  be- 
fore me.  I  rose  and  spoke  in  my  own  language.  He  listened 
to  me  with  apparent  attention,  but  with  a  slight  surprise  in  his 
looks;  and  shook  his  head,  as  if  to  signify  that  I  was  not  un- 
derstood. He  then  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me  in  silence 
to  the  building.  The  entrance  was  open — indeed  there  was  no 
door  to  it.  We  entered  an  immense  hall,  lighted  by  the  same 
kind  of  lustre  as  in  the  scene  without,  but  diffusing  a  fragrant 
odor.  The  floor  was  in  large  tesselated  blocks  of  precious 
metals,  and  partly  covered  with  a  sort  of  matlike  carpeting.  A 
strain  of  low  music,  above  and  around,  undulated  as  if  from 
invisible  instruments,  seeming  to  belong  naturally  to  the  place, 
just  as  the  sound  of  murmuring  waters  belongs  to  a  rocky  land- 
scape, or  the  warble  of  birds  to  vernal  groves. 


ti  tHE    COMING    RACK. 

A  figure,  in  a  simpler  garb  than  that  of  my  guide,  but  of 
similar  fashion,  was  standing  motionless  near  the  threshold. 
My  guide  touched  it  twice  with  his  staff,  and  it  put  itself  into 
a  rapid  and  gliding  movement,  skimming  noiselessly  over  the 
floor.  Gazing  on  it,  I  then  saw  that  it  was  no  living  form,  but 
a  mechanical  automaton.  It  might  be  two  minutes  after  it 
vanished  through  a  doorless  opening,  half  screened  by  curtains 
at  the  other  end  of  the  hall,  when  through  the  same  opening 
advanced  a  boy  of  about  twelve  years  old,  with  features  closely 
resembling  those  of  my  guide,  so  that  they  seemed  to  me  evi- 
dently son  and  father.  On  seeing  me  the  child  uttered  a  cry, 
and  lifted  a  staff  like  that  borne  by  my  guide,  as  if  in  menace. 
At  a  word  from  the  elder  he  dropped  it.  The  two  then  con- 
versed for  some  moments,  examining  me  while  they  spoke. 
The  child  touched  my  garments,  and  stroked  my  face  with  evi- 
dent curiosity,  uttering  a  sound  like  a  laugh,  but  with  an  hilar- 
ity more  subdued  than  the  mirth  of  our  laughter.  Presently 
the  roof  of  the  hall  opened,  and  a  platform  descended,  seem- 
ingly constructed  on  the  same  principle  as  the  "lifts"  used  in 
hotels  and  warehouses  for  mounting  from  one  story  to  another. 

The  stranger  placed  himself  and  the  child  on  the  platform, 
and  motioned  to  me  to  do  the  same,  which  I  did.  We  as- 
cended quickly  and  safely,  and  alighted  in  the  midst  of  a  cor- 
ridor with  doorways  on  either  side. 

Through  one  of  these  doorways  I  was  conducted  into  a 
chamber  fitted  up  with  an  Oriental  splendor;  the  walls  were 
tesselated  with  spars,  and  metals,  and  uncut  jewels;  cushions 
and  divans  abounded ;  apertures  as  for  windows,  but  unglazed, 
were  made  in  the  chamber,  opening  to  the  floor;  and  as  I 
passed  along  I  observed  that  these  openings  led  into  spacious 
balconies,  and  commanded  views  of  the  illumined  landscape 
without.  In  cages  suspended  from  the  ceiling  there  were  birds 
of  strange  form  and  bright  plumage,  which  at  our  entrance  set 
up  a  chorus  of  song,  modulated  into  tune  as  is  that  of  our  pip- 
ing bullfinches.  A  delicious  fragrance,  from  censers  of  gold 
elaborately  sculptured,  filled  the  air.  Several  automata,  like 
the  one  I  had  seen,  stood  numb  and  motionless  by  the  walls. 
The  stranger  placed  me  beside  him  on  a  divan,  and  again  spoke 
to  me,  and  again  I  spoke,  but  without  the  least  advance 
towards  understanding  each  other. 

But  now  I  began  to  feel  the  effect  of  the  blow  I  received 
from  the  splinters  of  the  falling  rock  more  acutely  than  I  had 
done  at  first. 

There  came  over  me  a  sense  of  sickly  faintness,  accompanied 


THE    COMIKG    RACE,  t^ 

with  acute,  lancinating  pains  in  the  head  and  neck.  I  sank 
back  on  the  seat,  and  strove  in  vain  to  stifle  a  groan.  On  this 
the  child,  who  had  hitherto  seemed  to  eye  me  with  distrust  or 
dislike,  knelt  by  my  side  to  support  me;  taking  one  of  my 
hands  in  both  his  own,  he  approached  his  lips  to  my  forehead, 
breathing  on  it  softly.  In  a  few  moments  my  pain  ceased;  a 
drowsy,  happy  calm  crept  over  me;  I  fell  asleep. 

How  long  I  remained  in  this  state  I  know  not,  but  when  I 
woke  I  felt  perfectly  restored.  My  eyes  opened  upon  a  group 
of  silent  forms,  seated  around  me  in  the  gravity  and  quietude 
of  Orientals — all  more  or  less  like  the  first  stranger;  the  same 
mantling  wings,  the  same  fashion  of  garment,  the  same  sphinx- 
like faces,  with  the  deep,  dark  eyes  and  red  man's  color; 
above  all,  the  same  type  of  race — race  akin  to  man's,  but  infin- 
itely stronger  of  form  and  grander  of  aspect,  and  inspiring  the 
same  unutterable  feeling  of  dread.  Yet  each  countenance  was 
mild  and  tranquil,  and  even  kindly  in  its  expression.  And 
strangely  enough,  it  seemed  to  me  that  in  this  very  calm  and 
benignity  consisted  of  the  dread  which  the  countenances  in- 
spired. They  seemed  as  void  of  the  lines  and  shadows  which 
care  and  sorrow,  and  passion  and  sin,  leave  upon  the  faces  of 
men,  as  are  the  faces  of  sculptured  gods,  or  as,  in  the  eyes  of 
Christian  mourners,  seem  the  peaceful  brows  of  the  dead. 

I  felt  a  warm  hand  on  my  shoulder ;  it  was  the  child's.  In 
his  eyes  there  was  a  sort  of  lofty  pity  and  tenderness,  such  as 
that  with  which  we  may  gaze  on  some  suffering  bird  or  butter- 
fly. I  shrank  from  that  touch — I  shrank  from  that  eye.  I  was 
vaguely  impressed  with  a  belief  that,  had  he  pleased,  that 
child  could  have  killed  me  as  easily  as  a  man  can  kill  a  bird  or 
a  butterfly.  The  child  seemed  pained  at  my  repugnance, 
quitted  me  and  placed  himself  beside  one  of  the  windows. 
The  others  continued  to  converse  with  each  other  in  a  low  tone, 
and  by  their  glances  towards  me  I  could  perceive  that  I  was  the 
object  of  their  conversation.  One  in  especial  seemed  to  be 
urging  some  proposal  affecting  me  on  the  being  whom  I  had 
first  met,  and  this  last  by  his  gesture  seemed  about  to  assent  to 
it,  when  the  child  suddenly  quitted  his  post  by  the  window, 
placed  himself  between  me  and  the  other  forms,  as  if  in  pro- 
tection, and  spoke  quickly  and  eagerly.  By  some  intuition  or 
instinct  I  felt  that  the  child  I  had  before  so  dreaded  was 
pleading  in  my  behalf.  Ere  he  had  ceased  another  stranger 
entered  the  room.  He  appeared  older  than  the  rest,  though 
not  old;  his  countenance,  less  smoothly  serene  than  theirs, 
though  equally  regular  in  its  features,  seemed  to  me  to  have 


14  tHfi    COMING    RACE. 

more  the  touch  of  a  humanity  akin  to  my  own.  He  listened 
quietly  to  the  words  addressed  to  him,  first  by  my  guide,  next 
by  two  others  of  the  group,  and  lastly  by  the  child;  then 
turned  towards  myself,  and  addressed  me,  not  by  words,  but  by 
signs  and  gestures.  These  I  fancied  I  perfectly  understood, 
and  I  was  not  mistaken.  I  comprehended  that  he  inquired 
whence  I  came.  I  extended  my  arm  and  pointed  towards  the 
road  which  had  led  me  from  the  chasm  in  the  rock ;  then  an 
idea  seized  me.  I  drew  forth  my  pocket-book  and  sketched 
on  one  of  its  blank  leaves  a  rough  design  of  the  ledge  of  the 
rock,  the  rope,  myself  clinging  to  it;  then  of  the  cavernous 
rock  below,  the  head  of  the  reptile,  the  lifeless  form  of  my 
friend.  I  gave  this  primitive  kind  of  hieroglyph  to  my  inter- 
rogator, who,  after  inspecting  it  gravely,  handed  it  to  his  next 
neighbor,  and  it  thus  passed  round  the  group.  The  being  I 
had  at  first  encountered  then  said  a  few  words,  and  the  child, 
who  approached  and  looked  at  my  drawing,  nodded  as  if  he 
comprehended  its  purport,  and  returning  to  the  window,  ex- 
panded the  wings  attached  to  his  form,  shook  them  once  or 
twice,  and  then  launched  himself  into  space  without.  I 
started  up  in  amaze  and  hastened  to  the  window.  The  child 
was  already  in  the  air,  buoyed  on  his  wings,  which  he  did  not 
flap  to  and  fro  as  a  bird  does,  but  which  were  elevated  over 
his  head,  and  seemed  to  bear  him  steadily  aloft  without  effort  of 
his  own.  His  flight  seemed  as  swift  as  any  eagle's;  and  I  ob- 
served that  it  was  towards  the  rock  whence  I  had  descended,  of 
which  the  outline  loomed  visible  in  the  brilliant  atmosphere.  In  a 
very  few  minutes  he  returned,  skimming  through  the  opening 
from  which  he  had  gone,  and  dropping  on  the  floor  the  rope 
and  grappling  hooks  I  had  left  at  the  descent  from  the  chasm. 
Some  words  in  a  low  tone  passed  between  the  beings  present; 
one  of  the  group  touched  an  automaton,  which  started  forward 
and  glided  from  the  room ;  then  the  last  comer,  who  had  ad- 
dressed me  by  gestures,  rose,  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  led  me 
into  the  corridor.  There  the  platform  by  which  I  had  mounted 
awaited  us ;  we  placed  ourselves  on  it  and  were  lowered  into 
the  hall  below.  My  new  companion,  still  holding  me  by  the 
hand,  conducted  me  from  the  building  into  a  street  (so  to 
speak)  that  stretched  beyond  it,  with  buildings  on  either  side; 
separated  from  each  other  by  gardens  bright  with  rich-colored 
vegetation  and  strange  flowers.  Interspersed  amidst  these 
gardens,  which  were  divided  from  each  other  by  low  walls,  or 
walking  slowly  along  the  road,  were  many  forms  similar  to 
fhose  I  had  already  seen.     Some  of  the  passers-by,  on  observ- 


THE    COMING    RACE.  15 

ing  me,  approached  my  guide,  evidently  by  their  tones,  looks 
and  gestures  addressing  to  him  inquiries  about  myself.  In  a 
few  moments  a  crowd  collected  round  us,  examining  me  with 
great  interest  as  if  I  were  some  rare  wild  animal.  Yet  even  in 
gratifying  their  curiosity  they  preserved  a  grave  and  courteous 
demeanor;  and  after  a  few  words  from  my  guide,  who  seemed 
to  me  to  deprecate  obstruction  in  our  road,  they  fell  back  with 
a  stately  inclination  of  head,  and  resumed  their  own  way  with 
tranquil  indifference.  Midway  in  this  thoroughfare  we  stopped 
at  a  building  that  differed  from  those  we  had  hithero  passed, 
inasmuch  as  it  formed  three  sides  of  a  vast  court,  at  the  angles 
of  which  were  lofty  pyramidal  towers ;  in  the  open  space  be- 
tween the  sides  was  a  circular  fountain  of  colossal  dimensions, 
and  throwing  up  a  dazzling  spray  of  what  seemed  to  me  fire. 
We  entered  the  building  through  an  open  doorway  and  came 
into  an  enormous  hall,  in  which  were  several  groups  of  chil- 
dren, all  apparently  employed  in  work  as  at  some  great  factory. 
There  was  a  huge  engine  in  the  wall  which  was  in  full  play, 
with  wheels  and  cylinders,  and  resembling  our  own  steam- 
engines,  except  that  it  was  richly  ornamented  with  precious 
stones  and  metals,  and  appeared  to  emit  a  pale  phosphorescent 
atmosphere  of  shifting  light.  Many  of  the  children  were  at 
some  mysterious  work  on  this  machinery,  others  were  seated 
before  tables.  I  was  not  allowed  to  linger  long  enough  to  ex- 
amine into  the  nature  of  their  employment.  Not  one  young 
voice  was  heard — not  one  young  face  turned  to  gaze  on  us. 
They  were  all  still  and  indifferent  as  may  be  ghosts,  through 
the  midst  of  which  pass  unnoticed  the  forms  of  the  living. 

Quitting  this  hall,  my  guide  led  me  through  a  gallery  richly 
painted  in  compartments,  with  a  barbaric  mixture  of  gold  in 
the  colors,  like  pictures  by  Louis  Cranach.  The  subjects  de- 
scribed on  these  walls  appeared  to  my  glance  as  intended  to 
illustrate  events  in  the  history  of  the  race  amidst  which  I  was 
admitted.  In  all  there  were  figures,  most  of  them  like  the 
man-like  creatures  I  had  seen,  but  not  all  in  the  same  fashion 
of  garb,  nor  all  with  wings.  There  were  also  the  effigies  of 
various  animals  and  birds  wholly  strange  to  me,  with  back- 
grounds depicting  landscapes  or  buildings.  So  far  as 'my  im- 
perfect knowledge  of  the  pictorial  art  would  allow  me  to  form 
an  opinion,  these  paintings  seemed  very  accurate  in  design  and 
very  rich  in  coloring,  showing  a  perfect  knowledge  of  perspec- 
tive, but  their  details  not  arranged  according  to  the  rules  of 
composition  acknowledged  by  our  artists — wanting,  as  it  were, 
a  centre ;  so  that  the  effect  was  vague,  scattered,  confused, 


l6  THE    COMING    RACE. 

bewildering;  they  were  like  heterogeneous  fragments  of  a 
dream  of  art. 

We  now  came  into  a  room  of  moderate  size,  in  which  was 
assembled  what  I  afterwards  knew  to  be  the  family  of  my 
guide,  seated  at  a  table  spread  as  for  our  repast.  The  forms 
thus  grouped  were  those  of  my  guide's  wife,  his  daughter,  and 
two  sons.  I  recognized  at  once  the  difference  between  the 
two  sexes,  though  the  two  females  were  of  taller  stature  and 
ampler  proportions  than  the  males;  and  their  countenances,  if 
still  more  symmetrical  in  outline  and  contour,  were  devoid  of 
the  softness  and  timidity  of  expression  which  give  charm  to  the 
face  of  woman  as  seen  on  the  earth  above.  The  wife  wore  no 
wings,  the  daughter  wore  wings  longer  than  those  of  the  males. 

My  guide  uttered  a  few  words,  on  which  all  the  persons 
seated  rose,  and  with  that  peculiar  mildness  of  look  and  man- 
ner which  I  have  before  noticed,  and  which  is,  in  truth,  the 
common  attribute  of  this  formidable  race,  they  saluted  me 
according  to  their  fashion,  which  consists  in  laying  the  right 
hand  very  gently  on  the  head  and  uttering  a  soft  sibilant  mono- 
syllable S.Si, — equivalent  to  "Welcome." 

The  mistress  of  the  house  then  seated  me  beside  her,  and 
heaped  a  golden  platter  before  me  from  one  of  the  dishes. 

While  I  ate  (and  though  the  viands  were  new  to  me,  I  mar- 
velled more  at  the  delicacy  than  the  strangeness  of  their  flavor), 
my  companions  conversed  quietly,  and,  so  far  as  I  could  de- 
tect, with  polite  avoidance  of  any  direct  reference  to  myself,  or 
any  obtrusive  scrutiny  of  my  appearance.  Yet  I  was  the  first 
creature  of  that  variety  of  the  human  race  to  which  I  belong 
that  they  had  ever  beheld,  and  was  consequently  regarded  by 
them  as  a  most  curious  and  abnormal  phenomenon.  But  all 
rudeness  is  unknown  to  this  people,  and  the  youngest  child  is 
taught  to  despise  any  vehement  emotional  demonstration. 
When  the  meal  was  ended,  my  guide  again  took  me  by  the 
hand,  and,  re-entering  the  gallery,  touched  a  metallic  plate  in- 
scribed with  strange  figures,  and  which  I  rightly  conjectured  to 
be  of  the  nature  of  our  telegraphs.  A  platform  descended, 
but  this  time  we  mounted  to  a  much  greater  height  than  in  the 
former  building,  and  found  ourselves  in  a  room  of  moderate 
dimensions,  and  which  in  its  general  character  had  much  that 
might  be  familiar  to  the  associations  of  a  visitor  from  the  upper 
world.  There  were  shelves  on  the  wall  containing  what  ap- 
peared to  be  books,  and  indeed  were  so ;  mostly  very  small, 
like  our  diamond  duodecimos,  shaped  in  the  fashion  of  our 
Yolumes,  and  bound  in  fine  sheets  of  metal.     There  were  sev- 


THE    COMING    RACE.  TJ 

eral  curious-looking  pieces  of  mechanism  scattered  about,  ap- 
parently models,  such  as  might  be  seen  in  the  study  of  any 
professional  mechanician.  Four  automata  (mechanical  con- 
trivances which,  with  these  people,  answer  the  ordinary  pur- 
poses of  domestic  service)  stood  phantom-like  at  each  angle  in 
the  wall.  In  a  recess  was  a  low  couch,  or  bed  with  pillows. 
A  window,  with  curtains  of  some  fibrous  material  drawn  aside, 
opened  upon  a  large  balcony.  My  host  stepped  out  into  the 
balcony ;  I  followed  him.  We  were  on  the  uppermost  story  of 
one  of  the  angular  pyramids ;  the  view  beyond  was  of  a  wild 
and  solemn  beauty  impossible  to  describe— the  vast  ranges  of 
precipitous  rock  which  formed  the  distant  background,  the 
intermediate  valleys  of  mystic  many-colored  herbage,  the  flash 
of  waters,  many  of  them  like  streams  of  roseate  flame,  the  se- 
rene lustre  diffused  over  all  by  myriads  of  lamps,  combined 
to  form  a  whole  of  which  no  words  of  mine  can  convey  ade- 
quate description,  so  splendid  was  it,  yet  so  sombre ;  so  lovely, 
yet  so  awful. 

But  my  attention  was  soon  diverted  from  these  nether  land- 
scapes. Suddenly  there  arose,  as  from  the  streets  below,  a 
burst  of  joyous  music ;  then  a  winged  form  soared  into  the 
space;  another,  as  in  chase  of  the  first,  another  and  another; 
others  after  others,  till  the  crowd  grew  thick  and  the  number 
countless.  But  how  describe  the  fantastic  grace  of  these  forms 
in  their  undulating  movements!  They  appeared  engaged  in 
some  sport  or  amusement;  now  forming  into  opposite  squad- 
rons; now  scattering;  now  each  group  threading  the  other, 
soaring,  descending,  interweaving,  severing;  all  in  measured 
time  to  the  music  below,  as  if  in  the  dance  of  the  fabled  Peri. 

I  turned  my  gaze  on  my  host  in  a  feverish  wonder.  I  ven- 
tured to  place  my  hand  on  the  large  wings  that  lay  folded  on 
his  breast,  and  in  doing  so  a  slight  shock  as  of  electricity  passed 
through  me.  I  recoiled  in  fear;  my  host  smiled,  and,  as  if 
courteously  to  gratify  my  curiosity,  slowly  expanded  his  pin- 
ions. I  observed  that  his  garment  beneath  them  became  di- 
lated as  a  bladder  that  fills  with  air.  The  arms  seemed  to  slide 
into  the  wings,  and  in  another  moment  he  had  launched  himself 
into  the  luminous  atmosphere,  and  hovered  there,  still,  and 
with  outspread  wings,  as  an  eagle  that  basks  in  the  sun.  Then, 
rapidly  as  an  eagle  swoops,  he  rushed  downwards  into  the 
midst  of  one  of  the  groups,  skimming  through  the  midst,  and 
as  suddenly  again  soaring  aloft.  Thereon,  three  forms,  in  none 
of  which  I  thought  to  recognize  my  host's  daughter,  detached 
themselves  from  the  rest,  and  followed  him  as  a  bird  sportively 


XS  THE    COMING    RACE. 

follows  a  bird.  My  eyes,  dazzled  with  the  lights  and  bewil- 
dered by  the  throngs,  ceased  to  distinguish  the  gyration  and 
evolutions  of  these  winged  playmates,  till  presently  my  host 
re-emerged  from  the  crowd  and  alighted  at  my  side. 

The  strangeness  of  all  1  had  seen  began  now  to  operate  fast 
on  my  senses;  my  mind  itself  began  to  wander.  Though  not 
inclined  to  be  superstitious,  nor  hitherto  believing  that  man 
could  be  brought  into  bodily  communication  with  demons,  I 
felt  the  terror  and  the  wild  excitement  with  which,  in  the 
Gothic  ages,  a  traveller  might  have  persuaded  himself  that  he 
witnessed  a  sabbat  of  fiends  and  witches.  I  have  a  vague  rec- 
ollection of  having  attempted  with  vehement  gesticulation,  and 
forms  of  exorcism,  and  loud  incoherent  words,  to  repel  my 
courteous  and  indulgent  host;  of  his  mild  endeavors  to  calm 
and  soothe  me;  of  his  intelligent  conjecture  that  my  fright  and 
bewilderment  were  occasioned  by  the  difference  of  form  and 
movement  between  us  which  the  wings  that  had  excited  my 
marvelling  curiosity  had,  in  exercise,  made  still  more  strongly 
perceptible ;  of  the  gentle  smile  with  which  he  had  sought  to 
dispel  my  alarm  by  dropping  the  wings  to  the  ground,  and  en- 
deavoring to  show  me  that  they  were  but  a  mechanical  con- 
trivance. That  sudden  transformation  did  but  increase  my 
horror;  and  as  extreme  fright  often  shows  itself  by  extreme 
daring,  I  sprang  at  his  throat  like  a  wild  beast.  On  an  instant 
I  was  felled  to  the  ground  as  by  an  electric  shock;  and  the 
last  confused  images  floating  before  my  sight  ere  I  became 
wholly  insensible,  were  the  form  of  my  host  kneeling  beside  me 
with  one  hand  on  my  forehead,  and  the  beautiful  calm  face  of 
his  daughter,  with  large,  deep,  inscrutable  eyes  intently  fixed 
upon  my  own. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

I  REMAINED  in  this  unconscious  state,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  for  many  days,  even  for  some  weeks,  according  to  our 
computation  of  time.  When  I  recovered  I  was  in  a  strange 
room,  my  host  and  all  his  family  were  gathered  round  me,  and 
to  my  utter  amaze  my  host's  daughter  accosted  me  in  my  own 
language  with  but  a  slightly  foreign  accent. 

"How  do  you  feel?"  she  asked. 

It  was  some  moments  before  I  could  overcome  my  surprise 
enough  to  falter  out:  "You  know  my  language?  How?  Who 
and  what  are  you?" 

My  host  smiled  and  motioned  to  one  of  his  sons,  who  then 


THE    COMING    RACE.  1^ 

toOiC  rrom  a  table  a  number  of  thin  metallic  sheets  on  which 
were  traced  drawings  of  various  figures — a  house,  a  tree,  a 
bird,  a  man,  etc.  In  these  designs  I  recognized  my  own  style 
of  drawing.  Under  each  figure  was  written  the  name  of  it  in 
my  language,  and  in  my  writing;  and  in  another  handwriting  a 
word  strange  to  me  beneath  it. 

Said  the  host:  "Thus  we  began;  and  my  daughter  Zee,  who 
belongs  to  the  College  of  Sages,  has  been  your  instructress  and 
ours  too." 

Zee  then  placed  before  me  other  metallic  sheets,  on  which, 
in  my  writing,  words  first,  and  then  sentences,  were  inscribed. 
Under  each  word  and  each  sentence  strange  characters  in 
another  hand.  Rallying  my  senses,  I  comprehended  that  thus 
a  rude  dictionary  had  been  effected.  Had  it  been  done  while 
I  was  dreaming?  "That  is  enough  now,"  said  Zee,  in  a  tone 
of  command.     "Repose  and  take  food." 

CHAPTER  Vn. 

A  ROOM  to  myself  was  assigned  to  me  in  this  vast  edifice.  It 
was  prettily  and  fantastically  arranged,  but  without  any  of  the 
splendor  of  metal  work  or  gems  which  was  displayed  in  the 
more  public  apartments.  The  walls  were  hung  with  a  variega- 
ted matting  made  from  the  stalks  and  fibres  of  plants,  and  the 
floor  carpeted  with  the  same. 

The  bed  was  without  curtains,  its  supports  of  iron  resting  on 
balls  of  crystal ;  the  coverings,  of  a  thin  white  substance  re- 
sembling cotton.  There  were  sundry  shelves  containing  books. 
A  curtained  recess  communicated  with  an  aviary  filled  with 
singing-birds,  of  which  I  did  not  recognize  one  resembling  those 
I  have  seen  on  earth,  except  a  beautiful  species  of  dove, 
though  this  was  distinguished  from  our  doves  by  a  tall  crest  of 
bluish  plumes.  All  these  birds  had  been  trained  to  sing  in  art- 
ful tunes,  and  greatly  exceeded  the  skill  of  our  piping  bull- 
finches, which  can  rarely  achieve  more  than  two  tunes,  and 
cannot,  I  believe,  sing  those  in  concert.  One  might  have  sup- 
posed one's-self  at  an  opera  in  listening  to  the  voices  in  my 
aviary.  There  were  duets  and  trios,  and  quartettes  and  chor- 
uses, all  arranged  as  in  one  piece  of  music.  Did  I  want  to 
silence  the  birds?  I  had  but  to  draw  a  curtain  over  the  aviary, 
and  their  song  hushed  as  they  found  themselves  in  the  dark. 
Another  opening  formed  a  window,  not  glazed,  but  on  touch- 
ing a  spring,  a  shutter  ascended  from  the  floor,  formed  of  some 
substance  less  transparent  than  glass,  but  still  sufficiently  pellu- 


20  THE    COMING    RACE. 

cid  to  allow  a  softened  view  of  the  scene  without.  To  this 
window  was  attached  a  balcony,  or  rather  hanging-garden, 
wherein  grew  many  graceful  plants  and  brilliant  flowers.  The 
apartment  and  its  appurtenances  had  thus  a  character,  if  strange 
in  detail,  still  familiar,  as  a  whole,  to  modern  notions  of  lux- 
ury, and  would  have  excited  admiration  if  found  attached  to 
the  apartment  of  an  English  duchess  or  a  fashionable  French 
author.  Before  I  arrived  this  was  Zee's  chamber;  she  had 
hospitably  assigned  it  to  me. 

Some  hours  after  the  waking  up  which  is  described  in  my 
last  chapter,  I  was  lying  alone  on  my  couch  trying  to  fix  my 
thoughts  on  conjecture  as  to  the  nature  and  genus  of  the  peo- 
ple amongst  whom  I  was  thrown,  when  my  host  and  his  daugh- 
ter Zee  entered  the  room.  My  host,  still  speaking  my  native 
tongue,  inquired,  with  much  politeness,  whether  it  would  be 
agreeable  to  me  to  converse,  or  if  I  preferred  solitude.  I  re- 
plied, that  I  should  feel  much  honored  and  obliged  by  the 
opportunity  offered  me  to  express  my  gratitude  for  the  hospi- 
tality and  civilities  I  had  received  in  a  country  to  which  I  was 
a  stranger,  and  to  learn  enough  of  its  customs  and  manners  not 
to  offend  through  ignorance. 

As  I  spoke,  I  had  of  course  risen  from  my  couch ;  but  Zee, 
much  to  my  confusion,  curtly  ordered  me  to  lie  down  again, 
and  there  was  something  in  her  voice  and  eye,  gentle  as  both 
were,  that  compelled  my  obedience.  She  then  seated  herself 
unconcernedly  at  the  foot  of  my  bed,  while  her  father  took  his 
place  on  a  divan  a  few  feet  distant. 

"But  what  part  of  the  world  do  you  come  from,"  asked  my 
host,  "that  we  should  appear  so  strange  to  you,  and  you  to  us? 
I  have  seen  individual  specimens  of  nearly  all  the  races  differ- 
ing from  our  own,  except  the  primeval  savages  who  dwell  in 
the  most  desolate  and  remote  recesses  of  uncultivated  nature, 
unacquainted  with  other  light  than  that  they  obtain  from  vol- 
canic fires,  and  contented  to  grope  their  way  in  the  dark,  as 
do  many  creeping,  crawling,  and  even  flying  things.  But  cer- 
tainly you  cannot  be  a  member  of  those  barbarous  tribes,  nor, 
on  the  other  hand,  do  you  seem  to  belong  to  any  civilized 
people." 

I  was  somewhat  nettled  at  this  last  observation,  and  replied 
that  I  had  the  honor  to  belong  to  one  of  the  most  civilized 
nations  of  the  earth ;  and  that  as  far  as  light  was  concerned, 
while  I  admired  the  ingenuity  and  disregard  of  expense  with 
which  my  host  and  his  fellow-citizens  had  contrived  to  illum- 
ine the  regions  unpenetrated  by  the  rays  of  the  sun,  yet  I  could 


THE    COMING    RACE.  it 

not  conceive  how  any  who  had  once  beheld  the  orbs  of  heaven 
could  compare  to  their  lustre  the  artificial  lights  invented  by 
the  necessities  of  man.  But  my  host  said  he  had  seen  speci- 
mens of  most  of  the  races  differing  from  his  own,  save  the 
wretched  barbarians  he  had  mentioned.  Now,  was  it  possible 
that  he  had  never  been  on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  or  could 
he  only  be  referring  to  communities  buried  within  its  entrails? 

My  host  was  for  some  moments  silent;  his  countenance 
showed  a  degree  of  surprise  which  the  people  of  that  race  very 
rarely  manifest  under  any  circumstances,  howsoever  extraordi- 
nary. But  Zee  was  more  intelligent,  and  exclaimed:  "So,  you 
see,  my  father,  that  there  is  truth  in  the  old  tradition;  there 
always  is  truth  in  every  tradition  commonly  believed  in  all 
times  and  by  all  tribes." 

"Zee,"  said  my  host  mildly,  "you  belong  to  the  College  of 
Sages,  and  ought  to  be  wiser  than  I  am ;  but,  as  chief  of  the 
Light-preserving  Council,  it  is  my  duty  to  take  nothing  for 
granted  till  it  is  proved  to  the  evidence  of  my  own  senses." 
Then,  turning  to  me,  he  asked  me  several  questions  about  the 
surface  of  the  earth  and  the  heavenly  bodies ;  upon  which, 
though  I  answered  him  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge,  my  an- 
swers seemed  not  to  satisfy  nor  convince  him.  He  shook  his 
head  quietly,  and  changing  the  subject  rather  abruptly,  asked 
how  I  had  come  down  from  what  he  was  pleased  to  call  one 
world  to  the  other.  I  answered,  that  under  the  surface  of  the 
earth  there  were  mines  containing  minerals,  or  metals,  essential 
to  our  wants  and  our  progress  in  all  arts  and  industries:  and  I 
then  briefly  explained  the  manner  in  which,  while  exploring 
one  of  these  mines,  I  and  my  ill-fated  friend  had  obtained  a 
glimpse  of  the  regions  into  which  we  had  descended,  and  how 
the  descent  had  cost  him  his  life;  appealing  to  the  rope  and 
grappling-hooks  that  the  child  had  brought  to  the  house  in 
which  I  had  been  at  first  received,  as  a  witness  of  the  truthful- 
ness of  my  story.  ««- 

My  host  then  proceeded  to  question  me  as  to  the  habits  and  ' 
modes  of  life  among  the  races  on  the  upper  earth,  more  espe- 
cially among  those  considered  to  be  the  most  advanced  in  that 
civilization  which  he  was  pleased  to  define  "the  art  of  diffu- 
sion throughout  a  community  the  tranquil  happiness  which  be- 
longs to  a  virtuous  and  well-ordered  household."  Naturally 
desiring  to  represent  in  the  most  favorable  colors  the  world 
from  which  I  came,  I  touched  but  slightly,  though  indulgently, 
on  the  antiquated  and  decaying  institutions  of  Europe,  in  order 
to    expatiate    on   the  present  grandeur  and  prospective   pre- 


2^  THE    COMING    RACE. 

eminence  of  that  glorious  American  Republic,  in  which  Europe 
enviously  seeks  its  model  and  tremblingly  foresees  its  doom. 
Selecting  for  an  example  of  the  social  life  of  the  United  States 
that  city  in  which  progress  advances  at  the  fastest  rate,  I  in- 
dulged in  an  animated  description  of  the  moral  habits  of  New 
York.  Mortified  to  see,  by  the  faces  of  my  listeners,  that  I 
did  not  make  the  favorable  impression  I  had  anticipated,  I 
elevated  my  theme ;  dwelling  on  the  excellence  of  democratic 
institutions,  their  promotion  of  tranquil  happiness  by  the  gov- 
ernment of  party,  and  the  mode  in  which  they  diffused  such 
happiness  throughout  the  community  by  preferring,  for  the 
exercise  of  power  and  the  acquisition  of  honors,  the  lowliest 
citizens  in  point  of  property,  education,  and  character.  P'or- 
tunately  recollecting  the  peroration  of  a  speech,  on  the  purify- 
ing influences  of  American  democracy  and  their  destined  spread 
over  the  world,  made  by  a  certain  eloquent  senator  (for  whose 
vote  in  the  Senate  a  Railway  Company,  to  which  my  two  broth- 
ers belonged,  had  just  paid  $20,000),  I  wound  up  by  repeating 
its  glowing  predictions  of  the  magnificent  future  that  smiled 
upon  mankind — when  the  flag  of  freedom  should  float  over  the 
entire  continent,  and  two  hundred  millions  of  intelligent  citi- 
zens, accustomed  from  infancy  to  the  daily  use  of  revolvers, 
should  apply  to  a  cowering  universe  the  doctrine  of  the  Patriot 
Monroe. 

When  I  had  concluded,  my  host  gently  shook  his  head,  and 
fell  into  a  musing  study,  making  a  sign  to  me  and  his  daughter 
to  remain  silent  while  he  reflected.  And  after  a  time  he  said, 
in  a  very  earnest  and  solemn  tone:  "If  you  think,  as  you  say, 
that  you,  though  a  stranger,  have  received  kindness  at  the 
hands  of  me  and  mine,  I  adjure  you  to  reveal  nothing  to  any 
other  of  our  people  respecting  the  world  from  which  you  came, 
unless,  on  consideration,  I  give  you  permission  to  do  so.  Do 
you  consent  to  this  request?" 

"Of  course  I  pledge  my  word  to  it,"  said  I,  somewhat 
amazed ;  and  I  extended  my  right  hand  to  grasp  his.  But  he 
placed  my  hand  gently  on  his  forehead  and  his  own  right  hand 
on  my  breast,  which  is  the  custom  among  this  race  in  all  mat- 
ters of  promise  or  verbal  obligations.  Then,  turning  to  his 
daughter,  he  said:  "And  you.  Zee,  will  not  repeat  to  any  one 
what  the  stranger  has  said,  or  may  say,  to  me  or  to  you,  of  a 
world  other  than  our  own."  Zee  rose  and  kissed  her  father  on 
the  temples,  saying,  with  a  smile:  "A  Gy's  tongue  is  wanton, 
but  love  can  fetter  it  fast.  And  if,  my  father,  you  fear  lest  a 
chance  word  from  me  or  yourself  could  expose  our  community 


THE    COMING     RACE.  13 

to  danger,  by  a  desire  to  explore  a  world  beyond  us,  will  not  a 
wave  of  the  vril^  properly  impelled,  wash  even  the  memory  of 
what  we  have  heard  the  stranger  say  out  of  the  tablets  of  the 
brain?"  -^ 

"What  is  vnl?'    I  asked.  "^ 

Therewith  Zee  began  to  enter  into  an  explanation  of  which  I  \ 
imderstood  very  little,  for  there  is  no  word  in  any  language  I  i 
know  which  is  an  exact  synonym  for  vril.  I  should  call  it 
electricity,  except  that  it  comprehends  in  its  manifold  branches 
other  forces  of  nature,  to  which,  in  our  scientific  nomenclature, 
differing  names  are  assigned,  such  as  magnetism,  galvanism, 
etc.  These  people  consider  that  in  vril  they  have  arrived  at 
the  unity  in  natural  energic  agencies,  whch  has  been  conject- 
ured by  many  philosophers  above  ground,  and  which  Faraday 
thus  intimates  under  the  more  cautious  term  of  correlation : 

"I  have  long  held  an  opinion,"  says  that  illustrious  experi- 
mentalist, "almost  amounting  to  a  conviction,  in  common,  I 
believe,  with  many  other  lovers  of  natural  knowledge,  that  the 
various  forms  under  which  the  forces  of  matter  are  made  mani- 
fest have  one  common  origin ;  or,  in  other  words,  are  so  di- 
rectly related  and  mutually  dependent,  that  they  are  converti- 
ble, as  it  were,  into  one  another,  and  possess  equivalents  of 
power  in  their  action." 

These  subterranean  philosophers  assert  that,  by  one  opera- 
tion of  vril,  which  Faraday  would  perhaps  call  "atmospheric 
magnetism,"  they  can  influence  the  variations  of  temperature — 
in  plain  words,  the  weather ;  that  by  other  operations,  akin  to 
those  ascribed  to  mesmerism,  electro-biology,  odic  force,  etc., 
but  applied  scientifically  through  vril  conductors,  they  can  ex- 
ercise influence  over  minds,  and  bodies  animal  and  vegetable, 
to  an  extent  not  surpassed  in  the  romances  of  our  mystics.  To 
all  such  agencies  they  give  the  common  name  of  vril.  Zee 
asked  me  if,  in  my  world,  it  was  not  known  that  all  the  facul- 
ties of  the  mind  could  be  quickened  to  a  degree  unknown  in 
the  waking  state,  by  trance  or  vision,  in  which  the  thoughts  of 
one  brain  could  be  transmitted  to  another,  and  knowledge  be 
thus  rapidly  interchanged.  I  replied,  that  there  were  among 
us  stories  told  of  such  trance  or  vision,  and  that  I  had  heard 
much  and  seen  something  of  the  mode  in  which  they  were  arti- 
ficially effected,  as  in  mesmeric  clairvoyance;  but  that  these 
practices  had  fallen  much  into  disuse  or  contempt,  partly  be- 
cause of  the  gross  impostures  to  which  they  had  been  made 
subservient,  and  partly  because,  even  where  the  effects  upon 
certain  abnormal  constitutions  were  genuinely  produced,  the 


24  THE     COMING     RACE. 

effects,  when  fairly  examined  and  analyzed,  were  very  unsat' 
isfactory — not  to  be  relied  upon  for  any  systematic  truthfulness 
or  any  practical  purpose,  and  rendered  very  mischievous  to 
credulous  persons  by  the  superstitions  they  tended  to  produce. 
Zee  received  my  answers  with  much  benignant  attention,  and 
said  that  similar  instances  of  abuse  and  credulity  had  been 
familiar  to  their  own  scientific  experience  in  the  infancy  of 
their  knowledge,  and  while  the  properties  of  vril  were  misap- 
prehended, but  that  she  reserved  further  discussion  on  this 
subject  till  I  was  more  fitted  to  enter  into  it.  She  contented 
herself  with  adding,  that  it  was  through  the  agency  of  vril, 
while  I  had  been  placed  in  the  state  of  trance,  that  I  had  been 
made  acquainted  with  the  rudiments  of  their  language;  and 
that  she  and  her  father,  who,  alone  of  the  family,  took  the  pains 
to  watch  the  experiment,  had  acquired  a  greater  proportion- 
ate knowledge  of  my  language  than  I  of  their  own ;  partly  be- 
cause my  language  was  much  simpler  than  theirs,  comprising 
far  less  of  complex  ideas;  and  partly  because  their  organization 
was,  by  hereditary  culture,  much  more  ductile  and  more  read- 
ily capable  of  acquiring  knowledge  than  mine.  At  this  I 
secretly  demurred ;  and  having  had,  in  the  course  of  a  practi- 
cal life,  to  sharpen  my  wits,  whether  at  home  or  in  travel,  I 
could  not  allow  that  my  cerebral  organization  could  possibly  be 
duller  than  that  of  people  who  had  lived  all  their  lives  by  lamp- 

L light.  However,  while  I  was  thus  thinking.  Zee  quietly 
pointed  her  forefinger  at  my  forehead  and  sent  me  to  sleep. 

CHAPTER  Vni. 

When  I  once  more  awoke  I  saw  by  my  bedside  the  child 
who  had  brought  the  rope  and  grappling-hooks  to  the  house  in 
which  I  had  been  first  received,  and  which,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  was  the  residence  of  the  chief  magistrate  of  the  tribe. 
The  child,  whose  name  was  Tae  (pronounced  Tar-ee),  was  the 
magistrate's  eldest  son.  I  found  that  during  my  last  sleep  or 
trance  I  had  made  still  greater  advance  in  the  language  of  the 
country,  and  could  converse  with  comparative  ease  and  fluency. 

This  child  was  singularly  handsome,  even  for  the  beautiful 
race  to  which  he  belonged,  with  a  countenance  very  manly  in 
aspect  for  his  years,  and  with  a  more  vivacious  and  energetic 
expression  than  I  had  hitherto  seen  in  the  serene  and  passion- 
less face  of  the  men.  He  brought  me  the  tablet  on  which  I 
had  drawn  the  mode  of  my  descent,  and  had  also  sketched  the 
head   of  the   horrible  reptile   that  had   scared  me   from   my 


THE    COMING     RACE.  Jtf 

friend's  corpse.  Pointing  to  that  part  of  the  drawing,  Tae  put 
to  me  a  few  questions  respecting  the  size  and  form  of  the 
monster,  and  the  cave  or  chasm  from  which  it  had  emerged. 
His  interest  in  my  answers  seemed  so  grave  as  to  divert  him 
for  a  while  from  curiosity  as  to  myself  or  my  antecedents. 
But  to  my  great  embarrassment,  seeing  how  I  was  pledged  to 
my  host,  he  was  just  beginning  to  ask  me  where  I  came  from, 
when  Zee  fortunately  entered,  and,  overhearing  him,  said: 
"Tae,  give  to  our  guest  any  information  he  may  desire,  but  ask 
none  from  him  in  return.  To  question  him  who  he  is,  whence 
he  came,  or  wherefore  he  is  here,  would  be  a  breach  of  the  law 
which  my  father  has  laid  down  for  this  house." 

"So  be  it,"  said  Tae,  pressing  his  hand  to  his  heart;  and 
from  that  moment,  till  the  one  in  which  I  saw  him  last,  this 
child,  with  whom  I  became  very  intimate,  never  once  put  to 
me  any  of  the  questions  thus  interdicted. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

It  was  not  for  some  time,  and  until,  by  repeated  trances,  if 
they  are  so  to  be  called,  my  mind  became  better  prepared  to 
interchange  ideas  with  my  entertainers,  and  more  fully  to  com- 
prehend differences  of  manners  and  customs  at  first  too  strange 
to  my  experience  to  be  seized  by  my  reason,  that  I  was  enabled 
to  gather  the  following  details  respecting  the  origin  and  history 
of  this  subterranean  population,  as  portion  of  one  great  family 
race  called  the  Ana. 

According  to  the  earliest  traditions,  the  remote  progenitors 
of  the  race  had  once  tenanted  a  world  above  the  surface  of 
that  in  which  their  descendants  dwelt.  Myths  of  that  world 
were  still  preserved  in  their  archives,  and  in  those  myths  were 
legends  of  a  vaulted  dome  in  which  the  lamps  were  lighted  by 
no  human  hand.  But  such  legends  were  considered  by  most 
commentators  as  allegorical  fables.  According  to  these  tradi- 
tions the  earth  itself,  at  the  date  to  which  the  traditions  ascend, 
was  not  indeed  in  its  infancy,  but  in  the  throes  and  travail  of 
transition  from  one  form  of  development  to  another,  and  sub- 
ject to  many  violent  revolutions  of  nature.  By  one  of  such 
revolutions,  that  portion  of  the  upper  world  inhabited  by  the 
ancestors  of  this  race  had  been  subjected  to  inundations,  not 
rapid,  but  gradual  and  uncontrollable,  in  which  all,  save  a 
scanty  remnant,  were  submerged  and  perished.  Whether  this 
be  a  record  of  our  historical  and  sacred  Deluge,  or  of  some 
earlier  one  contended  for  by  geologists,  I  do  not  pretend  to 


26  THE    COMING    RACB. 

conjecture;  though,  according  to  the  chronology  of  this  people 
as  compared  with  that  of  Newton,  it  must  have  been  many 
thousands  of  years  before  the  time  of  Noah.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  account  of  these  writers  does  not  harmonize  with 
the  opinions  most  in  vogue  among  geological  authorities,  inas- 
much as  it  places  the  existence  of  a  human  race  upon  earth  at 
dates  long  anterior  to  that  assigned  to  the  terrestrial  formation 
adapted  to  the  introduction  of  mammalia.  A  band  of  the  ill- 
fated  race,  thus  invaded  by  the  Flood,  had,  during  the  march 
of  the  waters,  taken  refuge  in  caverns  amidst  the  loftier  rocks, 
and,  wandering  through  these  hollows,  they  lost  sight  of  the 
upper  world  forever.  Indeed,  the  whole  face  of  the  earth  had 
been  changed  by  this  great  revulsion;  land  had  been  turned 
into  sea — sea  into  land.  In  the  bowels  of  the  inner  earth  even 
now,  I  was  informed  as  a  positive  fact,  might  be  discovered 
the  remains  of  human  habitation — habitation  not  in  huts  and 
caverns,  but  in  vast  cities  whose  ruins  attest  the  civilization  of 
races  which  flourished  before  the  age  of  Noah,  and  are  not  to 
be  classified  with  those  genera  to  which  philosophy  ascribes 
the  use  of  flint  and  the  ignorance  of  iron. 

The  fugitives  had  carried  with  them  the  knowledge  of  the 
arts  they  had  practised  above  ground — arts  of  culture  and  civi- 
lization. Their  earliest  want  must  have  been  that  of  supplying 
below  the  earth  the  light  they  had  lost  above  it ;  and  at  no  time 
even  in  the  traditional  period,  do  the  races,  of  which  the  one 
I  now  sojourned  with  formed  a  tribe,  seem  to  have  been  unac- 
quainted with  the  art  of  extracting  light  from  gases,  or  manga- 
nese, or  petroleum.  They  had  been  accustomed  in  their  former 
state  to  contend  with  the  rude  forces  of  nature;  and  indeed 
the  lengthened  battle  they  had  fought  with  their  conqueror 
Ocean,  which  had  taken  centuries  in  its  spread,  had  quickened 
their  skill  in  curbing  waters  into  dikes  and  channels.  To  this 
skill  they  owed  their  preservation  in  their  new  abode.  "For 
many  generations,"  said  my  host,  with  a  sort  of  contempt  and 
horror,  "these  primitive  forefathers  are  said  to  have  degraded 
their  rank  and  shortened  their  lives  by  eating  the  flesh  of  ani- 
mals, many  varieties  of  which  had,  like  themselves,  escaped 
the  Deluge,  and  sought  shelter  in  the  hollows  of  the  earth ; 
other  animals,  supposed  to  be  unknown  to  the  upper  world,  those 
hollows  themselves  produced." 

When  what  we  should  terra  the  historical  age  emerged  from 
the  twilight  of  tradition,  the  Ana  were  already  established  in 
different  communities,  and  had  attained  to  a  degree  of  civiliza- 
tion very  analogous  to  that  which  the  more  advanced  nations 


THE    COMING    RACE.  IJ 

above  the  earth  now  enjoy.  They  were  familiar  with  most  ol 
our  mechanical  inventions,  including  the  application  of  steam 
as  well  as  gas.  The  communities  were  in  fierce  competition 
tvith  each  other.  They  had  their  rich  and  their  poor :  they  had 
orators  and  conquerors ;  they  made  war  either  for  a  domain  or 
an  idea.  Though  the  various  states  acknowledged  various 
forms  of  government,  free  institutions  were  beginning  to  pre- 
ponderate ;  popular  assemblies  increased  in  power ;  republics 
soon  became  general ;  the  democracy  to  which  the  most  en- 
lightened European  politicians  look  forward  as  the  extreme  goal 
of  political  advancement,  and  which  still  prevailed  among  other 
subterranean  races,  whom  they  despised  as  barbarians,  the 
loftier  family  of  Ana,  to  which  belonged  the  tribe  I  was  visiting, 
looked  back  to  as  one  of  the  crude  and  ignorant  experiments 
which  belong  to  the  infancy  of  political  science.  It  was  the 
age  of  envy  and  hate,  of  fierce  passions,  of  constant  social 
change  more  or  less  violent,  of  strife  between  classes,  of  war 
between  state  and  state.  This  phase  of  society  lasted,  how- 
ever, for  some  ages,  and  was  finally  brought  to  a  close,  at  least 
among  the  nobler  and  more  intellectual  populations,  by  the 
gradual  discovery  of  the  latent  powers  stored  in  the  all-permeat- 
ing fluid  which  they  denominate  Vril.  — t 

According  to  the  account  I  received  from  Zee,  who,  as  an  I 
erudite  professor  in  the  College  of  Sages,  had  studied  such  t 
matter  more  diligently  than  any  other  member  of  my  host's 
family,  this  fluid  is  capable  of  being  raised  and  disciplined  into 
the  mightiest  agency  over  all  forms  of  matter,  animate  or  inani- 
mate. It  can  destroy  like  the  flash  of  lightning;  yet,  differently 
applied,  it  can  replenish  or  invigorate  life,  heal,  and  preserve ; 
and  on  it  they  chiefly  rely  for  the  cure  of  disease,  or  rather  of 
enabling  the  physical  organization  to  re-establish  the  due  equi- 
librium of  its  natural  powers,  and  thereby  to  cure  itself.  By  this 
agency  they  rend  way  through  the  most  solid  substances,  and 
open  valleys  for  culture  through  the  rocks  of  their  subterranean 
wilderness.  From  it  they  extract  the  light  which  supplies  their 
lamps,  finding  it  steadier,  softer,  and  healthier  than  the  other 
inflammable  materials  they  had  used. 

But  the  effects  of  the  alleged  discovery  of  the  means  to  direct 
the  more  terrible  force  of  vril  were  chiefly  remarkable  in  their 
influence  upon  social  polity.  As  these  effects  became  famil- 
iarly known  and  skilfully  administered,  war  between  the  Vril- 
discoverers  ceased ;  for  they  brought  the  art  of  destruction  to 
such  perfection  as  to  annul  all  superiority  in  numbers,  disci- 
pline, or  military  skill.     The  fire  lodged  in  the  hollow  of  a 


a8  THE    COMING    RACE. 

rod  directed  by  the  hand  of  a  child  could  shatter  the  strongest 
fortress,  or  cleave  its  burning  way  from  the  van  to  the  rear  of 
an  embattled  host.  If  army  met  army,  and  both  had  command 
of  this  agency,  it  could  be  but  to  the  annihilation  of  each. 
i  The  age  of  war  was  therefore  gone,  but  with  the  cessation  of 
'.  war  other  effects  bearing  upon  the  social  state  soon  became 
I  apparent.  Man  was  so  completely  at  the  mercy  of  man,  each 
whom  he  encountered  being  able,  if  so  willing,  to  slay  him  on 
the  instant,  that  all  notions  of  government  by  force  gradually 
vanished  from  political  systems  and  forms  of  law.  It  is  only 
by  force  that  vast  communities,  dispersed  through  great  dis- 
tances of  space,  can  be  kept  together;  but  now  there  was  no 
longer  either  the  necessity  of  self-preservation  or  the  pride  of 
aggrandizement  to  make  one  state  desire  to  preponderate  in 
population  over  another. 

The  Vril-discoverers  thus,  in  the  course  of  a  few  generations, 
peacefully  split  into  communities  of  moderate  size.  The  tribe 
amongst  which  I  had  fallen  was  limited  to  12,000  families. 
Each  tribe  occupied  a  territory  sufficient  for  all  its  wants,  and 
at  stated  periods  the  surplus  population  departed  to  seek  a 
realm  of  its  own.  There  appeared  no  necessity  for  any  arbi- 
trary selection  of  these  emigrants;  there  was  always  a  suffi- 
cient number  who  volunteered  to  depart. 

These  subdivided  states,  petty  if  we  regard  either  territory 
or  population,  all  appertained  to  one  vast  general  family. 
They  spoke  the  same  language,  though  the  dialects  might 
slightly  differ.  They  intermarried;  they  maintained  the  same 
general  laws  and  customs ;  and  so  important  a  bond  between 
these  several  communities  was  the  knowledge  of  vril  and  the 
practice  of  its  agencies,  that  the  word  A-Vril  was  synonymous 
with  civilization;  and  Vril-ya,  signifying  "The  Civilized  Na- 

Ltions,"  was  the  common  name  by  which  the  communities  em- 
ploying the  uses  of  vril  distinguished  themselves  from  such  of 
the  Ana  as  were  yet  in  a  state  of  barbarism. 

The  government  of  the  tribe  of  Vril-ya  I  am  treating  of  was 
apparently  very  complicated,  really  very  simple.  It  was  based 
upon  a  principle  recognized  in  theory,  though  little  carried  out 
in  practice,  above  ground,  viz.,  that  the  object  of  all  systems 
of  philosophical  thought  tends  to  the  attainment  of  unity,  or 
the  ascent  through  all  intervening  labyrinths  to  the  simplicity 
of  a  single  first  cause  or  principle.  Thus  in  politics,  even  re- 
publican writers  have  agreed  that  a  benevolent  autocracy  would 
insure  the  best  administration,  if  there  were  any  guarantees  for 
its  continuance,   or  against  its  gradual  abuse  of  the  powers 


THE    COMING    RACE.  29 

accorded  to  it.  This  singular  community  elected  therefore  a 
single  supreme  magistrate  styled  Tur;  he  held  his  office  nomi- 
nally for  life,  but  he  could  seldom  be  induced  to  retain  it  after 
the  first  approach  of  old  age.  There  was,  indeed,  in  this 
society  nothing  to  induce  any  of  its  members  to  covet  the  cares 
of  office.  No  honors,  no  insignia  of  higher  rank,  were  assigned 
to  it.  The  supreme  magistrate  was  not  distinguished  from  the 
rest  by  superior  habitation  or  revenue.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
duties  awarded  to  him  were  marvellously  light  and  easy,  requir- 
ing no  preponderant  degree  of  energy  or  intelligence.  There 
being  no  apprehensions  of  war,  there  were  no  armies  to  main- 
tain ;  being  no  government  of  force,  there  was  no  police  to 
appoint  and  direct.  What  we  call  crime  was  utterly  unknown 
to  the  Vril-ya;  and  there  were  no  courts  of  criminal  justice. 
The  rare  instances  of  civil  disputes  were  referred  for  arbitration 
to  friends  chosen  by  either  party,  or  decided  by  the  Council  of 
Sages,  which  will  be  described  later.  There  were  no  profes- 
sional lawyers ;  and  indeed  their  laws  were  but  amicable  con- 
ventions, for  there  was  no  power  to  enforce  laws  against  an 
offender  who  carried  in  his  staff  the  power  to  destroy  his 
judges.  There  were  customs  and  regulations,  to  compliance 
with  which,  for  several  ages,  the  people  had  tacitly  habituated 
themselves ;  or  if  in  any  instance  an  individual  felt  such  com- 
pliance hard,  he  quitted  the  community  and  went  elsewhere. 
There  was,  in  fact,  quietly  established  amid  this  state,  much 
the  same  compact  that  is  found  in  our  private  families,  in  which 
we  virtually  say  to  any  independent  grown-up  member  of  the 
family  whom  we  receive  and  entertain:  "Stay  or  go,  according 
as  our  habits  and  regulations  suit  or  displease  you."  But 
though  there  were  no  laws  such  as  we  call  laws,  no  race  above 
ground  is  so  law-observing.  Obedience  to  the  rule  adopted  by 
the  community  has  become  as  much  an  instinct  as  if  it  were 
implanted  by  nature.  Even  in  every  household  the  head  of  it 
makes  a  regulation  for  its  guidance,  which  is  never  resisted  nor 
even  cavilled  at  by  those  who  belong  to  the  family.  They 
have  a  proverb,  the  pithiness  of  which  is  much  lost  in  this 
paraphrase:  "No  happiness  without  order,  no  order  without 
authority,  no  authority  without  unity."  The  mildness  of  all 
government  among  them,  civil  or  domestic,  may  be  signalized 
by  their  idiomatic  expressions  for  such  terms  as  illegal  or  for- 
bidden, viz.,  "It  is  requested  not  to  do  so-and-so."  Poverty 
among  the  Ana  is  as  unknown  as  crime;  not  that  property  is 
held  in  common,  or  that  all  are  equals  in  the  extent  of  their 
possessions  or  the  size  and  luxury  of  their  habitations:  but 


30  THE    COMING     RACE. 

there  being  no  difference  of  rank  or  position  between  the  grades 
of  wealth  or  the  choice  of  occupations,  each  pursues  his  own 
inclinations  without  creating  envy  or  vying;  some  like  a  modest, 
some  a  more  splendid  kind  of  life ;  each  makes  himself  happy 
in  his  own  way.  Owing  to  this  absence  of  competition,  and 
the  limit  placed  on  the  population,  it  is  difficult  for  a  family  to 
fall  into  distress;  there  are  no  hazardous  speculations,  no  emu- 
lators striving  for  superior  wealth  and  rank.  No  doubt,  in  each 
settlement  all  originally  had  the  same  proportions  of  land  dealt 
out  to  them  but  some,  more  adventurous  than  others,  had 
extended  their  possessions  farther  into  the  bordering  wilds,  or 
had  improved  into  richer  fertility  the  produce  of  their  fields,  or 
entered  into  commerce  or  trade.  Thus  necessarily,  some  had 
grown  richer  than  others,  but  none  had  become  absolutely  poor, 
or  wanting  anything  which  their  tastes  desired.  If  they  did 
so,  it  was  always  in  their  power  to  migrate,  or  at  the  worst  to 
apply,  without  shame  and  with  certainty  of  aid,  to  the  rich; 
for  all  the  members  of  the  community  considered  themselves 
as  brothers  of  one  affectionate  and  united  family.  More 
upon  this  head  will  be  treated  of  incidentally  as  my  narrative 
proceeds. 

The  chief  care  of  the  supreme  magistrate  was  to  communi- 
cate with  certain  active  departments  charged  with  the  administra- 
tion of  special  details.  The  most  important  and  essential  of 
such  details  was  that  connected  with  the  due  provision  of  light. 
Of  this  department  my  host,  Aph-Lin,  was  the  chief.  Another 
department,  which  might  be  called  the  foreign,  communicated 
with  the  neighboring  kindred  states,  principally  for  the  purpose 
of  ascertaining  all  new  inventions;  and  to  a  third  department 
all  such  inventions  and  improvements  in  machinery  were  com- 
mitted for  trial.  Connected  with  this  department  was  the 
College  of  Sages — a  college  especially  favored  by  such  of  the 
Ana  as  were  widowed  and  childless,  and  by  the  young  unmar- 
ried females,  amongst  whom  Zee  was  the  most  active,  and,  if 
what  we  call  renown  or  distinction  was  a  thing  acknowledged 
by  this  people  (which  I  shall  later  show  it  is  not),  among  the 
most  renowned  or  distinguished.  It  is  by  the  female  Professors 
of  this  college  that  those  studies  which  are  deemed  of  least  use 
in  practical  life — as  purely  speculative  philosophy,  the  history 
of  remote  periods,  and  such  sciences  as  entomology,  conchol- 
ogy,  etc. — are  the  more  diligently  cultivated.  Zee,  whose 
mind,  active  as  Aristotle's,  equally  embraced  the  largest 
domains  and  the  minutest  details  of  thought,  had  written 
two  volumes  on  the  parasite  insect  that  dwells  amid  the  hairs  of 


THE    COMING    RACE,  ^I 

a  tiger's  *  paw,  which  work  was  considered  the  best  authority  on 
that  interesting  subject.  But  the  researches  of  the  sages  are  not 
confined  to  such  subtle  or  elegant  studies.  They  comprise  vari- 
ous others  more  important,  and  especially  the  properties  of  vril, 
to  the  perception  of  which  their  finer  nervous  organization  ren- 
ders the  female  Professors  eminently  keen.  It  is  out  of  this  col- 
lege that  the  Tur,  or  chief  magistrate,  selects  Councillors,  limited 
to  three,  in  the  rare  instances  in  which  novelty  of  event  or  cir- 
cumstance perplexes  his  own  judgment. 

There  are  a  few  other  departments  of  minor  consequence,  but 
all  are  carried  on  so  noiselessly  and  quietly  that  the  evidence 
of  a  government  seems  to  vanish  altogether,  and  social  order 
to  be  as  regular  and  unobtrusive  as  if  it  were  a  law  of  nature. 
Machinery  is  employed  to  an  inconceivable  extent  in  all  the 
operations  of  labor  within  and  without  doors,  an  it  is  the  unceas- 
ing object  of  the  department  charged  with  its  administration  to 
extend  its  efficiency.  There  is  no  class  of  laborers  or  servants, 
but  all  who  are  required  to  assist  or  control  the  machinery  are 
found  in  the  children,  from  the  time  they  leave  the  care  of  their 
mothers  to  the  marriageable  age,  which  they  place  at  sixteen  for 
the  Gy-ei  (the  females),  twenty  for  the  Ana  (the  males).  These 
children  are  formed  into  bands  and  sections  under  their  own 
chiefs,  each  following  the  pursuits  in  which  he  is  most  pieased, 
or  for  which  he  feels  himself  most  fitted.  Some  take  to  handi- 
crafts, some  to  agriculture,  some  to  household  work,  and  some 
to  the  only  services  of  danger  to  which  the  population  is  exposed; 
for  the  sole  perils  that  threaten  this  tribe  are,  first,  from  those 
occasional  convulsions  within  the  earth,  to  foresee  and  guard 
against  which  tasks  their  utmost  ingenuity — irruptions  of  fire 
and  water,  the  storms  of  subterranean  winds  and  escaping 
gases.  At  the  borders  of  the  domain,  and  at  all  places 
where  such  peril  might  be  apprehended,  vigilant  inspectors 
are  stationed  with  telegraphic  communication  to  the  hall 
in  which  chosen  sages  take  it  by  turns  to  hold  perpetual  sittings. 
These  inspectors  are  always  selected  from  the  elder  boys  ap- 
proaching the  age  of  puberty,  and  on  the  principle  that  at  that 
age  observation  is  more  acute  and  the  physical  forces  more  alert 
than  at  any  other.  The  second  service  of  danger,  less  grave, 
is  in  the  destruction  of  all  creatures  hostile  to  the  life,  or  the 

*  The  animal  here  referred  to  has  many  points  of  difference  from  the  tiger  of  the  up- 
per world.  It  is  larger,  and  with  a  broader  paw,  and  still  nrore  receding  frontal.  It 
haunts  the  sides  of  lakes  and  pools,  and  feeds  principally  on  fishes,  though  it  does  not 
object  to  any  terrestrial  animal  of  inferior  strength  that  comes  in  its  way.  It  is  becoming 
very  scarce  even  in  the  wild  districts,  where  it  is  devoured  by  gigantic  reptiles.  I  appre- 
hend that  it  clearly  belongs  to  the  tiger  species,  since  the  parasite  animalcule  found  in  its 
paw,  lilce  that  found  in  the  Asiatic  tiger's,  is  a  miniature  image  of  itself. 


32  THE    COMING     RACE. 

culture,  or  even  the  comfort,  of  the  Ana.  Of  these  the  most 
formidable  are  the  vast  reptiles,  of  some  of  which  antedilu- 
vian relics  are  preserved  in  our  museums,  and  certain  gigantic 
winged  creatures,  half-bird,  half-reptile.  These,  together  with 
lesser  wild  animals,  corresponding  to  our  tigers  or  venom- 
ous serpents,  it  is  left  to  the  younger  children  to  hunt  and 
destroy;  because,  according  to  the  Ana,  here  ruthlessness  is 
wanted,  and  the  younger  a  child  the  more  ruthlessly  he  will 
destroy.  There  is  another  class  of  animals  in  the  destruction 
of  which  discrimination  is  to  be  used,  and  against  which  children 
of  intermediate  age  are  appointed — animals  that  do  not  threat- 
en the  life  of  man,  but  ravage  the  produce  of  his  labor, 
varieties  of  the  elk  and  deer  species,  and  a  smaller  creature 
much  akin  to  our  rabbit,  though  infinitely  more  destructive 
to  crops,  and  much  more  cunning  in  its  mode  of  depredation. 
It  is  the  first  object  of  these  appointed  infants,  to  tame  the  more 
intelligent  of  such  animals  into  respect  for  enclosures  signalized 
by  conspicuous  landmarks,  as  dogs  are  taught  to  respect  a  lar- 
der, or  even  to  guard  the  master's  property.  It  is  only  where  such 
creatures  are  found  untamable  to  this  extent  that  they  are  des- 
troyed. Life  is  never  taken  away  for  food  or  for  support,  and 
never  spared  where  untamably  inimical  to  the  Ana.  Concomi- 
tantly with  these  bodily  services  and  tasks,  the  mental  education 
of  the  children  goes  on  till  boyhood  ceases.  It  is  the  general 
custom,  then,  to  pass  through  a  course  of  instruction  at  the 
College  of  Sages,  in  which,  besides  more  general  studies,  the 
pupil  receives  special  lessons  in  such  vocation  or  direction  of 
intellect  as  he  himself  selects.  Some,  however,  prefer  to  pass 
this  period  of  probation  in  travel,  or  to  emigrate,  or  to  settle 
down  at  once  into  rural  or  commercial  pursuits.  No  force 
is  put  upon  individual  inclination. 

CHAPTER  X. 

The  word  Ana  (pronounced  broadly  Arna)  corresponds  with 
our  plural  men;  An  (pronounced  Am),  the  singular,  wxthtnan. 
The  word  for  woman  is  Gy  (pronounced  hard,  as  in  Guy); 
it  forms  itself  into  Gy-ei  for  the  plural,  but  the  G  becomes  soft 
in  the  plural,  like  Jy-ei.  They  have  a  proverb  to  the  effect 
that  this  difference  in  pronunciation  is  symbolical,  for  that 
the  female  sex  is  soft  collectively,  but  hard  to  deal  with  in  the 
individual.  The  Gy-ie  are  in  the  fullest  enjoyment  of  all  the 
rights  of  equality  with  males,  for  which  certain  philosophers 
above  ground  contend. 


TtlE    COMING    RACE.  3J 

In  childhood  they  perform  the  offices  of  work  and  labor 
impartially  with  boys;  and,  indeed,  in  the  earlier  age  appro- 
priated to  the  destruction  of  animals  irreclaimably  hostile,  the 
girls  are  frequently  preferred,  as  being  by  constitution  more 
ruthless  under  the  influence  of  fear  or  hate.  In  the  interval 
between  infancy  and  the  marriageable  age  familiar  intercourse 
between  the  sexes  is  suspended.  At  the  marriageable  age  it  is 
renewed,  never  with  worse  consequences  than  those  which 
attend  upon  marriage.  All  arts  and  vocations  allotted  to  the 
one  sex  are  open  to  the  other,  and  the  Gy-ei  arrogate  to 
themselves  a  superiority  in  all  those  abstruse  and  mystical 
branches  of  reasoning,  for  which  they  say  the  Ana  are  unfitted 
by  a  duller  sobriety  of  understanding,  or  the  routine  of  their 
matter-of-fact  occupations,  just  as  young  ladies  in  our  own 
world  constitute  themselves  authorities  in  the  subtlest  points 
of  theological  doctrine,  for  which  few  men,  actively  engaged 
in  worldly  business,  have  sufficient  learning  or  refinement  of 
intellect.  Whether  owing  to  early  training  in  gymnastic  ex- 
ercises or  to  their  constitutional  organization,  the  Gy-ei  are 
usually  superior  to  the  Ana  in  physical  strength  (an  important 
element  in  the  consideration  and  maintenance  of  female  rights). 
They  attain  to  loftier  stature,  and  amid  their  rounder  propor- 
tions are  embedded  sinews  and  muscles  as  hardy  as  those  of 
the  other  sex.  Indeed  they  assert  that,  according  to  the  origi- 
nal laws  of  nature,  females  were  intended  to  be  larger  than 
males,  and  maintain  this  dogma  by  reference  to  the  earliest 
formations  of  life  in  insects  and  in  the  most  ancient  family  of 
the  vertebrata — viz.,  fishes — in  both  of  which  the  females  are 
generally  large  enough  to  make  a  meal  of  their  consorts  if  they 
so  desire.  Above  all,  the  Gy-ei  have  a  readier  and  more  con- 
centred power  over  that  mysterious  fluid  or  agency  which  con- 
tains the  element  of  destruction,  with  a  larger  portion  of  that 
sagacity  which  comprehends  dissimulation.  Thus  they  can  not 
only  defend  themselves  against  all  aggressions  from  the  males, 
but  could,  at  any  moment  when  he  least  suspected  his  danger, 
terminate  the  existence  of  an  offending  spouse.  To  the  credit 
of  the  Gy-ei  no  instance  of  their  abuse  of  this  awful  superiority 
in  the  art  of  destruction  is  on  record  for  several  ages.  The 
last  that  occurred  in  the  community  I  speak  of  appears  (accord- 
ing to  their  chronology)  to  have  been  about  two  thousand  years 
ago.  A  Gy,  then  in  a  fit  of  jealousy,  slew  her  husband;  and 
this  abominable  act  inspired  such  terror  among  the  males  that 
they  emigrated  in  a  body  and  left  all  the  Gy-ei  to  themselves. 
The  history  runs  that  the  widowed  Gy-ei,  thus  reduced  to  de- 


34  THE    COMING    RACE. 

spair,  fell  upon  the  murderess  in  her  sleep  (and  therefore  un- 
armed), and  killed  her,  and  then  entered  into  a  solemn  obli- 
gation amongst  themselves  to  abrogate  forever  the  exercise  of 
their  extreme  conjugal  powers,  and  to  inculcate  the  same  obli- 
gation forever  and  ever  on  their  female  children.  By  this  con- 
ciliatory process,  a  deputation  despatched  to  the  fugitive  con- 
sorts succeeded  in  persuading  many  to  return,  but  those  who  did 
return  were  mostly  the  elder  ones.  The  younger,  either  from 
too  craven  a  doubt  of  their  consorts,  or  too  high  an  estimate  of 
their  own  merits,  rejected  all  overtures,  and,  remaining  in 
other  communities,  were  caught  up  there  by  other  mates,  with 
whom  perhaps  they  were  no  better  off.  But  the  loss  of  so  large 
a  portion  of  the  male  youth  operated  as  a  salutary  warning  on 
the  Gy-ei,  and  confirmed  them  in  the  pious  resolution  to  which 
they  had  pledged  themselves.  Indeed  it  is  now  popularly  con- 
sidered that,  by  long  hereditary  disuse,  the  Gy-ei  have  lost  both 
the  aggressive  and  the  defensive  superiority  over  the  Ana  which 
they  once  possessed,  just  as  in  the  inferior  animals  above  the 
earth  many  peculiarities  in  their  original  formation,  intended 
by  nature  for  their  protection,  gradually  fade  or  become 
inoperative  when  not  needed  under  altered  circumstances.  I 
should  be  sorry,  however,  for  any  An  who  induced  a  Gy  to 
make  the  experiment  whether  he  or  she  were  the  stronger. 

From  the  incident  I  have  narrated,  the  Ana  date  certain 
alterations  in  the  marriage  customs,  tending,  perhaps,  some- 
what to  the  advantage  of  the  male.  They  now  bind  themselves 
in  wedlock  only  for  three  years ;  at  the  end  of  each  third  year 
either  male  or  female  can  divorce  the  other  and  is  free  to  marry 
again.  At  the  end  of  ten  years  the  An  has  the  privilege  of 
taking  a  second  wife,  allowing  the  first  to  retire  if  she  so 
please.  These  regulations  are  for  the  most  part  a  dead  letter ; 
divorces  and  polygamy  are  extremely  rare,  and  the  marriage 
state  now  seems  singularly  happy  and  serene  amongst  this  as- 
tonishing people ;  the  Gy-ei,  notwithstanding  their  boastful 
superiority  in  physical  strength  and  intellectual  abilities,  being 
much  curbed  into  gentle  manners  by  the  dread  of  separation  or 
of  a  second  wife,  and  the  Ana  being  very  much  the  creatures 
of  custom,  and  not,  except  under  great  aggravation,  liking  to 
exchange  for  hazardous  novelties  faces  and  manners  to  which 
they  are  reconciled  by  habit.  But  there  is  one  privilege  the 
Gy-ei  carefully  retain,  and  the  desire  for  which  perhaps  forms 
the  secret  motive  of  most  lady  asserters  of  woman  rights  above 
ground.  They  claim  the  privilege,  here  usurped  by  men,  of 
proclaiming  their  love  and  urging  their  suit ;  in  other  words,  of 


THE    COMING    RACE.  35 

being  the  wooing  party  rather  than  the  wooed.  Such  a  phe- 
nomenon as  an  old  maid  does  not  exist  among  the  Gy-ei. 
Indeed  it  is  very  seldom  that  a  Gy  does  not  secure  any  An 
upon  whom  she  sets  her  heart,  if  his  affections  be  not  strongly 
engaged  elsewhere.  However  coy,  reluctant,  and  prudish 
the  male  she  courts  may  prove  at  first,  yet  her  perseverance, 
her  ardor,  her  persuasive  powers,  her  command  over  the  mys- 
tic agencies  of  vriJ,  are  pretty  sure  to  run  down  his  neck  into 
what  we  call  "the  fatal  noose."  Their  argument  for  the  re- 
versal of  that  relationship  of  the  sexes  which  the  blind  tyranny 
of  man  has  established  on  the  surface  of  the  earth  appears 
cogent,  and  is  advanced  with  a  frankness  which  might  well  be 
commended  to  impartial  consideration.  They  say,  that  of  the 
two  the  female  is  by  nature  of  a  more  loving  disposition  than 
the  male,  that  love  occupies  a  larger  space  in  her  thoughts,  and 
is  more  essential  to  her  happiness,  and  that  therefore  she  ought 
to  be  the  wooing  party ;  that  otherwise  the  male  is  a  shy  and 
dubitant  creature ;  that  he  has  often  a  selfish  predilection  for 
the  single  state ;  that  he  often  pretends  to  misunderstand  tender 
glances  and  delicate  hints ;  that,  in  short,  he  must  be  resolutely 
pursued  and  captured.  They  add,  moreover,  that  unless  the 
Gy  can  secure  the  An  of  her  choice,  and  one  whom  she  would 
not  select  out  of  the  whole  world  becomes  her  mate,  she  is  not 
only  less  happy  than  she  otherwise  would  be,  but  she  is  not  so 
good  a  being ;  that  her  qualities  of  heart  are  not  sufficiently 
developed;  whereas  the  An  is  a  creature  that  less  lastingly  con 
centrates  his  affections  on  one  object;  that  if  he  cannot  get  the 
Gy  whom  he  prefers  he  easily  reconciles  himself  to  another 
Gy;  and,  finally,  that  at  the  worst,  if  he  is  loved  and  taken 
care  of,  it  is  less  necessary  to  the  welfare  of  his  existence  that 
he  should  love  as  well  as  be  loved ;  he  grows  contented  with 
his  creature  comforts,  and  the  many  occupations  of  thought 
which  he  creates  for  himself. 

Whatever  may' be  said  as  to  this  reasoning,  the  system  works 
well  for  the  male ;  for  being  thus  sure  that  he  is  truly  and  ar- 
dently loved,  and  that  the  more  coy  and  reluctant  he  shows 
himself,  the  more  the  determination  to  secure  him  increases, 
he  generally  contrives  to  make  his  consent  dependent  on  such 
conditions  as  he  thinks  the  best  calculated  to  insure,  if  not  a 
blissful,  at  least  a  peaceful,  life.  Each  individual  An  has  his 
own  hobbies,  his  own  ways,  his  own  predilections,  and,  what- 
ever they  may  be,  he  demands  a  promise  of  full  and  unre- 
strained concession  to  them.  This,  in  the  pursuit  of  her  ob- 
ject, the  Gy  readily  promises ;  and  as  the  characteristic  of  this 


36  THE    COMING     RACE. 

extraordinary  people  is  an  implicit  veneration  for  truth,  and 
her  word  once  given  is  never  broken  even  by  the  giddiest  Gy, 
the  conditions  stipulated  for  are  religiously  observed.  In  fact, 
notwithstanding  all  their  abstract  rights  and  powers,  the  Gy-ei 
are  the  most  amiable,  conciliatory,  and  submissive  wives  I  have 
ever  seen  even  in  the  happiest  households  above  ground.  It  is 
an  aphorism  among  them,  that  "where  a  Gy  loves  it  is  her 
pleasure  to  obey."  It  will  be  observed  that  in  the  relationship 
of  the  sexes  I  have  spoken  only  of  marriage,  for  such  is  the 
moral  perfection  to  which  this  community  has  attained,  that 
any  illicit  connection  is  as  little  possible  amongst  them  as  it 
would  be  to  a  couple  of  linnets  during  the  time  they  agreed  to 
live  in  pairs. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Nothing  had  more  perplexed  me  in  seeking  to  reconcile  my 
sense  to  the  existence  of  regions  extending  below  the  surface 
of  the  earth,  and  habitable  by  beings,  if  dissimilar  from,  still, 
in  all  material  points  of  organism,  akin  to  those  in  the  upper 
world,  than  the  contradiction  thus  presented  to  the  doctrine  in 
which,  I  believe,  most  geologists  and  philosophers  concur,  viz., 
that  though  with  us  the  sun  is  the  great  source  of  heat,  yet  the 
deeper  we  go  beneath  the  crust  of  the  earth,  the  greater  is  the 
increasing  heat,  being,  it  is  said,  found  in  the  ratio  of  a  degree 
for  every  foot,  commencing  from  fifty  feet  below  the  surface. 
But  though  the  domains  of  the  tribe  I  speak  of  were,  on  the 
higher  ground,  so  comparatively  near  to  the  surface,  that  I 
could  account  for  a  temperature,  therein,  suitable  to  organic 
life,  yet  even  the  ravines  and  valleys  of  that  realm  were  much 
less  hot  than  philosophers  would  deem  possible  at  such  a. 
depth — certainly  not  warmer  than  the  south  of  France,  or  at 
least  of  Italy.  And  according  to  all  the  accounts  I  received, 
vast  tracts  immeasurably  deeper  beneath  the  surface,  and  in 
which  one  might  have  thought  only  salamanders  could  exist, 
were  inhabited  by  innumerable  races  organized  like  ourselves. 
I  cannot  pretend  in  any  way  to  account  for  a  fact  which  is  so 
at  variance  with  the  recognized  laws  of  science,  nor  could  Zee 
much  help  me  towards  a  solution  of  it.  She  did  but  conject- 
ure that  sufficient  allowance  had  not  been  made  by  our  philoso- 
phers for  the  extreme  porousness  of  the  interior  earth;  the 
vastness  of  its  cavities  and  irregularities,  which  served  to  create 
free  currents  of  air  and  frequent  winds,  and  for  the  various 
modes  in  which  heat  is  evaporated  and  thrown  off.  She 
allowed,  however,  that  there  was  a  depth  at  which  the  heat  was 


THE    COMING     RACE.  3/ 

deemed  to  be  intolerable  to  such  organized  life  as  was  known 
to  the  experience  of  the  Vril-ya,  though  their  philosophers 
believed  that  even  in  such  places  life  of  some  kind — life  sen- 
tient, life  intellectual — would  be  found  abundant  and  thriving, 
could  the  philosophers  penetrate  to  it.  "Wherever  the  All- 
Good  builds,"  said  she,  "there,  be  sure,  He  places  inhabitants. 
He  loves  not  empty  dwellings."  She  added,  however,  that 
many  changes  in  temperature  and  climate  had  been  effected  by 
the  skill  of  the  Vril-ya,  and  that  the  agency  of  vril  had  been 
successfully  employed  in  such  changes.  She  described  a  subtle 
and  life-giving  medium  called  La',  which  I  suspect  to  be  iden- 
tical with  the  ethereal  oxygen  of  Dr.  Lewins,  wherein  work  all 
the  correlative  forces  united  under  the  name  of  vril ;  and  con- 
tended that  wherever  this  medium  could  be  expanded,  as  it 
were,  sufificiently  for  the  various  agencies  of  vril  to  have  ample 
play,  a  temperature  congenial  to  the  highest  forms  of  life  could 
be  secured.  She  said  also,  that  it  was  the  belief  of  their  nat- 
uralists that  flowers  and  vegetation  had  been  produced  origin- 
ally (whether  developed  from  seeds  borne  from  the  surface  of 
the  earth  in  the  earlier  convulsions  of  nature,  or  imported  by 
the  tribes  that  first  sought  refuge  in  cavernous  hollows)  through 
the  operations  of  the  light  constantly  brought  to  bear  on  them, 
and  the  gradual  improvement  in  culture.  She  said  also,  that 
since  the  vril  light  had  superseded  all  other  light-giving  bodies, 
the  colors  of  flower  and  foliage  had  become  more  brilliant,  and 
vegetation  had  acquired  larger  growth. 

Leaving  these  matters  to  the  consideration  of  those  better 
competent  to  deal  with  them,  I  must  now  devote  a  few  pages 
to  the  very  interesting  questions  connected  with  the  language 
of  the  Vril-ya. 

CHAPTER  Xn. 

The  language  of  the  Vril-ya  is  peculiarly  interesting,  because 
it  seems  to  me  to  exhibit  with  great  clearness  the  traces  of  the 
three  main  transitions  through  which  language  passes  in  attain- 
ing to  perfection  of  form. 

One  of  the  most  illustrious  of  recent  philologists,  Max 
Muller,  in  arguing  for  the  analogy  between  the  strata  of  lan- 
guage and  the  strata  of  the  earth,  lays  down  this  absolute 
dogma:  "No  language  can,  by  any  possibility,  be  inflectional 
without  having  passed  through  the  agglutinative  and  isolating 
stratum.  No  language  can  be  agglutinative  without  clinging 
with  its  roots  to  the  underlying  stratum  of  isolation,'  '—"On  the 
Stratification  of  Language,"  p.  20. 


58  THE    COMING    RACE. 

Taking  then  the  Chinese  language  as  the  best  existing  type 
of  the  original  isolating  stratum,  "as  the  faithful  photograph  of 
man  in  his  leading-strings  trying  the  muscles  of  his  mind, 
groping  his  way,  and  so  delighted  with  his  first  sruccessful 
grasps  that  he  repeats  them  again  and  again,"  *  we  have  in  the 
language  of  the  Vril-ya,  still  "clinging  with  its  roots  to  the 
underlying  stratum,"  the  evidences  of  the  original  isolation. 
It  abounds  in  monosyllables,  which  are  the  foundations  of  the 
language.  The  transition  into  the  agglutinative  form  marks  an 
epoch  that  must  have  gradually  extended  through  ages,  the 
written  literature  of  which  has  only  survived  in  a  few  frag- 
ments of  symbolical  mythology  and  certain  pithy  sentences 
which  have  passed  into  popular  proverbs.  With  the  extant 
literature  of  the  Vril-ya  the  inflectional  stratum  commences. 
No  doubt  at  that  time  there  must  have  operated  concur- 
rent causes,  in  the  fusion  of  races  by  some  dominant  people, 
and  the  rise  of  some  literary  great  phenomena  by  which  the 
form  of  language  became  arrested  and  fixed.  As  the  inflection- 
al stage  prevailed  over  the  agglutinative,  it  is  surprising  to  see 
how  much  more  boldly  the  original  roots  of  the  language  project 
frpm  the  surface  that  conceals  them.  In  the  old  fragments  and 
proverbs  of  the  preceding  stage  the  monosyllables  v/hich  com- 
pose those  roots  vanish  amidst  words  of  enormous  length,  com- 
prehending whole  sentences  from  which  no  one  part  can  be  dis- 
entangled from  the  other  and  employed  separately.  But  when 
the  inflectional  form  of  language  became  so  far  advanced  as  to 
have  its  scholars  and  grammarians,  they  seem  to  have  united  in 
extirpating  all  such  polysyhthetical  or  polysyllabic  monsters, 
as  devouring  invaders  of  the  aboriginal  forms.  Words  beyond 
three  syllables  became  proscribed  as  barbarous,  and  in  propor- 
tion as  the  language  grew  thus  simplified  it  increased  in 
strength,  in  dignity,  and  in  sweetness.  Though  now  very 
compressed  in  sound,  it  gains  in  clearness  by  that  compression. 
By  a  single  letter,  according  to  its  position,  they  contrive  to 
express  all  that  with  civilized  nations  in  our  upper  world  it 
takes  the  waste,  sometimes  of  syllables,  sometimes  of  sen- 
tences, to  express.  Let  me  here  cite  one  or  two  instances: 
An  (which  I  will  translate  man).  Ana  (men) ;  the  letter  s  is 
with  them  a  letter  implying  multitude,  according  to  where  it  is 
placed ;  Sana  means  mankind ;  Ansa,  a  multitude  of  men. 
The  prefix  of  certain  letters  in  their  alphabet  invariably  denotes 
compound  significations.  For  instance,  Gl  (which  with  them 
is  a  single  letter,  as  t/i  is  a  single  letter  with  the  Greeks)  at  the 

*  Majf  MitUer,  "  Stratification  of  Language,"  p.  13. 


tlife    COMING    feACfi.  30 

commencement  of  a  word  infers  an  assemblage  or  union  of 
things,  sometimes  kindred,  sometimes  dissimilar — as  Oon,  a 
house;  Gloon,  a  town  (/.  ^.,  an  assemblage  of  houses).  Ata 
is  sorrow;  data,  a  public  calamity,  Aur-an  is  the  health  or 
wellbeing  of  a  man ;  Glauran,  the  wellbeing  of  the  state,  the 
good  of  the  community ;  and  a  word  constantly  in  their  mouths 
is  A-glauran,  which  denotes  their  political  creed,  viz.,  that 
"the  first  principle  of  a  community  is  the  good  of  all."  Aub 
is  invention ;  Sila,  a  tone  in  music.  Glaubsila,  as  uniting  the 
ideas  of  invention  and  of  musical  intonation,  is  the  classical 
word  for  poetry — abbreviated,  in  ordinary  conversation,  to 
Glaubs.  Na,  which  with  them  is,  like  Gl,  but  a  single  letter, 
always,  when  an  initial,  implies  something  antagonistic  to  life 
or  joy  or  comfort,  resembling  in  this  the  Aryan  root  Nak,  ex- 
pressive of  perishing  or  destruction.  Nax  is  darkness ;  Narl, 
death;  Naria,  sin  or  evil.  Nas — an  uttermost  condition  of 
sin  and  evil — corruption.  In  writing,  they  deem  it  irrev- 
erent to  express  the  Supreme  Being  by  any  special  name. 
He  is  symbolized  by  what  may  be  termed  the  hieroglyphic 
of  a  pyramid,  /^.  In  prayer  they  address  Him  by  a  name 
which  they  deem  too  sacred  to  confide  to  a  stranger,  and 
I  know  it  not.  In  conversation  they  generally  use  a  periphras- 
tic epithet,  such  as  the  All-Good.  The  letter  V,  symbolical 
of  the  inverted  pyramid,  where  it  is  an  initial,  nearly  always 
denotes  excellence  or  power;  as  Vril,  of  which  I  have  said  so 
much;  Veed,  an  immortal  spirit ;  Veedya,  immortality;  Koom, 
pronounced  like  the  Welsh  Cwm,  denotes  something  of  hollow- 
ness.  Koom  itself  is  a  profound  hollow,  metaphorically  a  cav- 
ern;  Koom-in,  a  hole;  Zi-koom,  a  valley;  Koom-zi,  vacancy 
or  void;  Bodh-koom,  ignorance  (literally,  knowledge- void). 
Koom-Posh  is  their  name  for  the  government  of  the  many,  or 
the  ascendancy  of  the  most  ignorant  or  hollow.  Posh  is  an 
almost  untranslatable  idiom,  implying,  as  the  reader  will  see 
later,  contempt.  The  closest  rendering  I  can  give  to  it  is  our 
slang  term,  "bosh";  and  thus  Koom-Posh  may  be  loosely  ren- 
dered "Hollow-Bosh."  But  when  Democracy  or  Koom-Posh 
degenerates  from  popular  ignorance  into  that  popular  passion 
of  ferocity  which  precedes  its  decease,  as  (to  cite  illustrations 
from  the  upper  world)  during  the  French  Reign  of  Terror,  or  for 
the  fifty  years  of  the  Roman  Republic  preceding  the  ascendancy 
of  Augustus,  their  name  for  that  state  of  things  is  Glek-Nas. 
Ek  is  strife — Glek,  the  universal  strife.  Nas,  as  I  before  said, 
is  corruption  or  rot;  thus  Glek-nas  may  be  construed,  "the 
universal  strife-rot."     Their  compounds  are  very  expressive; 


4©  th£  coming  race. 

thus  Bodh  being  knowledge,  and  Too,  a  participle  that  implies 
the  action  of  cautiously  approaching,  Too-bodh  is  their  word 
for  Philosophy;  Pah  is  a  contemptuous  exclamation  analogous 
to  our  idiom,  "stuff  and  nonsense,"  Pah-bodh  (literally,  stuff- 
and-nonsense-knowledge)  is  their  term  for  futile  or  false  phil- 
osophy, and  is  applied  to  a  species  of  metaphysical  or  specula- 
tive ratiocination  formerly  in  vogue,  which  consisted  in  mak- 
ing inquiries  that  could  not  be  answered,  and  were  not  worth 
making;  such,  for  instance,  as:  "Why  does  an  An  have  five 
toes  to  his  feet  instead  of  four  or  six?  Did  the  first  An, 
created  by  the  All-Good,  have  the  same  number  of  toes  as  his 
descendants?  In  the  form  by  which  an  An  will  be  recognized 
by  his  friends  in  the  future  state  of  being,  will  he  retain  any 
toes  at  all,  and,  if  so,  will  they  be  material  toes  or  spiritual 
toes?"  I  take  these  illustrations  of  Pah-Bodh,  not  in  irony  or 
jest,  but  because  the  very  inquiries  I  name  formed  the  subject 
of  controversy  by  the  latest  cultivators  of  that  "science" — 
4000  years  ago. 

In  the  declension  of  nouns  I  was  informed  that  anciently 
there  were  eight  cases  (one  more  than  in  the  Sanskrit  Gram- 
mar); but  the  effect  of  time  has  been  to  reduce  these  cases, 
and  multiply,  instead  of  these  varying  terminations,  explanatory 
prepositions.  At  present,  in  the  Grammar  submitted  to  my 
study,  there  were  four  cases  of  nouns,  three  having  varying 
terminations,  and  the  fourth  a  differing  prefix. 


Singular. 

Plural. 

Nona. 

An,               Man. 

Nom. 

Ana, 

Men. 

Dat. 

Ano,         to  Man. 

Dat. 

Anoi, 

to  Men, 

Ac, 

Anam,          Man. 

Ac. 

Ananda, 

Men. 

Voc. 

Hil-an,     O  Man. 

Voc. 

Hil-Ananda, 

0  Men. 

In  the  elder  inflectional  literature  the  dual  form  existed — it 
has  long  been  obsolete. 

The  genitive  case  with  them  is  also  obsolete:  the  dative  sup- 
plies its  place:  they  say  the  House  to  a  Man,  instead  of  the 
House  of  a  Man.  When  used  (sometimes  in  poetry),  the  geni- 
tive in  the  termination  is  the  same  as  the  nominative;  so  is  the 
ablative,  the  preposition  that  marks  it  being  a  prefix  or  suffix  at 
option,  and  generally  decided  by  ear,  according  to  the  sound 
of  the  noun.  It  will  be  observed  that  the  prefix  Hil  marks  the 
vocative  case.  It  is  always  retained  in  addressing  another,  ex- 
cept in  the  most  intimate  domestic  relations;  its  omission 
would  be  considered  rude;  just  as  in  our  old  forms  of  speech 
in  addressing  a  king  it  would  have  been  deemed  disrespectful 
to  say  "King,"  and  reverential  to  say  "O  King."     In  fact,  as 


The  coming   RACfi.  4t 

they  have  no  titles  of  honor,  the  vocative  adjuration  supplies 
the  place  of  a  title,  and  is  given  impartially  to  all.  The  prefix 
Hil  enters  into  the  composition  of  words  that  imply  distant 
communications,  as  Hil-ya,  to  travel. 

In  the  conjugation  of  their  verbs,  which  is  much  too  lengthy 
a  subject  to  enter  on  here,  the  auxiliary  verb  Ya,  "to  go," 
which  plays  so  considerable  a  part  in  the  Sanskrit,  appears  and 
performs  a  kindred  office,  as  if  it  were  a  radical  in  some  lan- 
guage from  which  both  had  descended.  But  another  auxiliary 
of  opposite  significance  also  accompanies  it  and  shares  its  la- 
bors, viz.,  Zi,  to  stay  or  repose.  Thus  Ya  enters  into  the  future 
tense,  and  Zi  in  the  preterite  of  all  verbs  requiring  auxiliaries. 
Yam,  I  go — Yiam,  I  may  go — Yani-ya,  I  shall  go  (literally,  I 
go  to  go)  Zam-poo-yan,  I  have  gone  (literally,  I  rest  from 
gone).  Ya,  as  a  termination,  implies  by  analogy,  progress, 
movement,  efflorescence.  Zi,  as  a  terminal,  denotes  fixity, 
sometimes  in  a  good  sense,  sometimes  in  a  bad,  according  to 
the  word  with  which  it  is  coupled.  Iva-zi,  eternal  goodness; 
Nan-zi,  eternal  evil.  Poo  (from)  enters  as  a  prefix  to  words 
that  denote  repugnance,  or  things  from  which  we  ought  to  be 
averse.  Poo-pra,  disgust;  poo-naria,  falsehood,  the  vilest 
kind  of  evil.  Poosh  or  Posh  I  have  already  confessed  to  be 
untranslatable  literally.  It  is  an  expression  of  contempt  not 
unmixed  with  pity.  This  radical  seems  to  have  originated 
from  inherent  sympathy  between  the  labial  effort  and  the  sen- 
timent that  impelled  it.  Poo  being  an  utterance  in  which  the 
breath  is  exploded  from  the  lips  with  more  or  less  vehemence. 
On  the  other  hand,  Z,  when  an  initial,  is  with  them  a  sound  in 
which  the  breath  is  sucked  inward,  and  thus  Zu,  pronounced 
Zoo  (which  in  their  language  is  one  letter),  is  the  ordinary  pre- 
fix to  words  that  signify  something  that  attracts,  pleases, 
touches  the  heart — as  Zummer,  lover;  Zutze,  love;  Zuzulia, 
delight.  This  indrawn  sound  of  Z  seems  indeed  naturally  appro- 
priated to  fondness.  Thus,  even  in  our  language,  mothers  say 
to  their  babies,  in  defiance  of  grammar;  "Zoo  darling;"  and 
I  have  heard  a  learned  professor  at  Boston  call  his  wife  (he 
had  only  been  married  a  month)  "Zoo  little  pet." 

I  cannot  quit  this  subject,  however,  without  observing  by 
what  slight  changes  in  the  dialects  favored  by  different  tribes 
of  the  same  race,  the  original  signification  and  beauty  of 
sounds  may  become  confused  and  deformed.  Zee  told  me  with 
much  indignation  that  ZQmmer  (lover)  which,  in  the  way  she 
uttered  it,  seemed  slowly  taken  down  to  the  very  depths  of  her 
heart,  was,  in  some  not  very  distant  communities  of  the  Vril- 


42  THE    COMING    RACE. 

ya,  vitiated  into  the  half-Iiissing,  half-nasal,  wholly  disagree- 
able, sound  of  Subber.  I  thought  to  myself  it  only  wanted  the 
introduction  of  n  before  u  to  render  it  into  an  English  word 
significant  of  the  last  quality  an  amorous  Gy  would  desire  in 
her  Zummer. 

I  will  but  mention  another  peculiarity  in  this  language  which 
gives  equal  force  and  brevity  to  its  forms  of  expressions. 

A  is  with  them,  as  with  us,  the  first  letter  of  the  alphabet, 
and  is  often  used  as  a  prefix  word  by  itself  to  convey  a  com- 
plex idea  of  sovereignty  or  chiefdom,  or  presiding  principle. 
For  instance,  Iva  is  goodness;  Diva,  goodness  and  happiness 
united ;  A-Diva  is  unerring  and  absolute  truth.  I  have  already 
noticed  the  value  of  A  in  A-giauran,  so,  in  vril  (to  whose  prop- 
erties they  trace  their  present  state  of  civilization)  A-vril  de- 
notes, as  I  have  said,  civilization  itself. 

The  philologist  will  have  seen  from  the  above  how  much  the 
language  of  the  Vril-ya  is  akin  to  the  Aryan  or  Indo-Germanic; 
but,  like  all  languages,  it  contains  words  and  forms  in  which 
transfers  from  very  opposite  sources  of  speech  have  been  taken. 
The  very  title  of  Tur,  which  they  give  to  their  supreme  magis- 
trate, indicates  theft  from  a  tongue  akin  to  the  Turanian. 
They  say  themselves  that  this  is  a  foreign  word  borrowed  from 
a  title  which  their  historical  records  show  to  have  been  borne 
by  the  chief  of  a  nation  with  whom  the  ancestors  of  the  Vril-ya 
were,in  very  remote  periods,  on  friendly  terms,  but  which  has 
long  become  extinct,  and  they  say  that  when,  after  the  discov- 
ery of  vril,  they  remodelled  their  political  institutions,  they 
expressly  adopted  a  title  taken  from  an  extinct  race  and  a  dead 
language  for  that  of  their  chief  magistrate,  in  order  to  avoid 
all  titles  for  that  office  with  which  they  had  previous  asso- 
ciations. 

Should  life  be  spared  to  me,  I  may  collect  into  systematic 
form  such  knowledge  as  I  acquired  of  this  language  during  my 
sojourn  amongst  the  Vril-ya.  But  what  I  have  already  said 
will  perhaps  suffice  to  show  to  genuine  philological  students 
that  a  language  which,  preserving  so  many  of  the  roots  in  the 
aboriginal  form,  and  clearing  from  the  immediate,  but  transi- 
tory, polysynthetical  stage,  so  many  rude  incumbrances,  has 
attained  to  such  a  union  of  simplicity  and  compass  in  its  final 
inflectional  forms,  must  have  been  the  gradual  work  of  count- 
less ages  and  many  varieties  of  mind ;  that  it  contains  the  evi- 
dence of  fusion  between  congenial  races,  and  necessitated,  in 
arriving  at  the  shape  of  which  I  have  given  examples,  the  con- 
tinuous culture  of  a  highly  thoughtful  people. 


THE    COMiNCi    RACE.  43 

That  nevertheless  the  literature  which  belongs  to  this  lan- 
guage is  a  literature  of  the  past;  that  the  present  felicitous 
state  of  society  at  which  the  Ana  have  attained  forbids  the 
progressive  cultivation  of  literature,  especially  in  the  two  main 
divisions  of  fiction  and  history,  I  shall  have  occasion  to  show 
later. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

This  people  have  a  religion,  and,  whatever  may  be  said 
against  it,  at  least  it  has  these  strange  peculiarities :  firstly,  that 
they  all  believe  in  the  creed  they  profess;  secondly,  that  they 
all  practise  the  precepts  which  the  creed  inculcates.  They 
unite  in  the  worship  of  the  one  divine  Creator  and  Sustainerof 
the  universe.  They  believe  that  it  is  one  of  the  properties  of 
the  all-permeating  agency  of  vril,  to  transmit  to  the  well-spring 
of  life  and  intelligence  every  thought  that  a  living  creature  can 
conceive ;  and  though  they  do  not  contend  that  the  idea  of  a 
Deity  is  innate,  yet  they  say  that  the  An  (man)  is  the  only  creat- 
ure, so  far  as  their  observation  of  nature  extends,  to  whom  the 
capacity  of  conceiving  that  idea,  with  all  the  trains  of  thought 
which  open  out  from  it,  is  vouchsafed.  They  hold  that  this 
capacity  is  a  privilege  that  cannot  have  been  given  in  vain,  and 
hence  that  prayer  and  thanksgiving  are  acceptable  to  the  divine 
Creator,  and  necessary  to  the  complete  development  of  the 
human  creature.  They  offer  their  devotions  both  in  private 
and  public.  Not  being  considered  one  of  their  species,  I  was 
not  admitted  into  the  building  or  temple  in  which  the  public 
worship  is  rendered ;  but  I  am  informed  that  the  service  is  ex- 
ceedingly short,  and  unattended  with  any  pomp  of  ceremony. 
It  is  a  doctrine  with  the  Vril-ya,  that  earnest  devotion  or  com- 
plete abstraction  from  the  actual  world  cannot,  with  benefit  to 
itself,  be  maintained  long  at  a  stretch  by  the  human  mind,  es- 
pecially in  public,  and  that  all  attempts  to  do  so  either  lead  to 
fanaticism  or  to  hypocrisy.  When  they  pray  in  private,  it  is 
when  they  are  alone  or  with  their  young  children. 

They  say  that  in  ancient  times  there  was  a  great  number  of 
books  written  upon  speculations  as  to  the  nature  of  the  Deity, 
and  upon  the  forms  of  belief  or  worship  supposed  to  be  most 
agreeable  to  Him.  But  these  were  found  to  lead  to  such 
heated  and  angry  disputations  as  not  only  to  shake  the  peace  of 
the  community  and  divide  families  before  the  most  united, 
but  in  the  course  of  discussing  the  attributes  of  the  Deity,  the 
existence  of  the  Deity  Himself  became  argued  away,  or,  what 
was  worse,  became  invested  with  the  passions  and  infirmities  of 


44  fHE    COMING    RACE. 

the  human  disputants.  "For,"  said  my  host,  "since  a  finite 
being  like  an  An  cannot  possibly  define  the  Infinite,  so,  when 
he  endeavors  to  realize  an  idea  of  the  Divinity,  he  only  reduces 
the  Divinity  into  an  An  like  himself."  During  the  later  ages, 
therefore,  all  theological  speculations,  though  not  forbidden, 
have  been  so  discouraged  as  to  have  fallen  utterly  into  disuse. 
The  Vril-ya  unite  in  a  conviction  of  a  future  state,  more 
felicitous  and  more  perfect  than  the  present.  If  they  have 
very  vague  notions  of  the  doctrine  of  rewards  and  punish- 
ments, it  is  perhaps  because  they  have  no  systems  of  rewards 
and  punishments  among  themselves,  for  there  are  no  crimes  to 
punish,  and  their  moral  standard  is  so  even  that  no  An  among 
them  is,  upon  the  whole,  considered  more  virtuous  than  an- 
other. If  one  excels,  perhaps,  in  one  virtue,  another  equally 
excels  in  some  other  virtue;  if  one  has  his  prevalent  fault  or  in- 
firmity, so  also  another  has  his.  In  fact,  in  their  extraordinary 
mode  of  life,  there  are  so  few  temptations  to  wrong,  that  they 
are  good  (according  to  their  notions  of  goodness)  merely  be- 
cause they  live.  They  have  some  fanciful  notions  upon  the 
continuance  of  life,  when  once  bestowed,  even  in  the  vegetable 
world,  as  the  reader  will  see  in  the  next  chapter. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Though,  as  I  have  said,  the  Vril-ya  discourage  all  specula- 
tions on  the  nature  of  the  Supreme  Being,  they  appear  to  con- 
cur in  a  belief  by  which  they  think  to  solve  that  great  problem 
of  the  existence  of  evil  which  has  so  perplexed  the  philosophy 
of  the  upper  world.  They  hold  that  wherever  He  has  once 
given  life,  with  the  perceptions  of  that  life,  however  faint  it  be, 
as  in  a  plant,  the  life  is  never  destroyed;  it  passes  into  new 
and  improved  forms,  though  not  in  this  planet  (differing 
therein  from  the  ordinary  doctrine  of  metempsychosis),  and 
that  the  living  thing  retains  the  sense  of  identity,  so  that  it 
connects  its  past  life  with  its  future,  and  is  conscious  of  its 
progressive  improvement  in  the  scale  of  joy.  For  they  say 
that,  without  this  assumption,  they  cannot,  according  to  the 
lights  of  human  reason  vouchsafed  to  them,  discover  the  per- 
fect justice  which  must  be  a  constituent  quality  of  the  All-Wise 
and  the  All-Good.  Injustice,  they  say,  can  only  emanate 
from  three  causes;  want  of  wisdom  to  perceive  what  is  just, 
want  of  benevolence  to  desire,  want  of  power  to  fulfil  it;  and 
that  each  of  these  three  wants  is  incompatible  in  the  All- Wise, 
the  All-Good,  the  AU-Powerful.     But  that,  while  even  in  this 


tHti    COMINCJ    kACfi.  45 

life  the  wisdom,  the  benevolence,  and  the  power  of  the 
Supreme  Being  are  sufficiently  apparent  to  compel  our  recog- 
nition, the  justice  necessarily  resulting  from  those  attributes  ab- 
solutely requires  another  life,  not  for  man  only,  but  for  every  liv- 
ing thing  of  the  inferior  orders.  That,  alike  in  the  animal  and 
the  vegetable  world,  we  see  one  individual  rendered,  by  circum- 
stances beyond  its  control,  exceedingly  wretched  compared  to 
its  neighbors — one  only  exists  as  the  prey  of  another — even  a 
plant  suffers  from  disease  till  it  perishes  prematurely,  while  the 
plant  next  to  it  rejoices  in  its  vitality  and  lives  out  its  happy 
life  free  from  a  pang.  That  it  is  an  erroneous  analogy  from 
human  infirmities  to  reply  by  saying  that  the  Supreme  Being 
only  acts  by  general  laws,  thereby  making  his  own  secondary 
causes  so  potent  as  to  mar  the  essential  kindness  of  the  First 
Cause;  and  a  still  meaner  and  more  ignorant  conception  of  the 
All-Good,  to  dismiss  with  a  brief  contempt  all  consideration  of 
justice  for  the  myriad  forms  into  which  He  has  infused  life, 
and  assume  that  justice  is  only  due  to  the  single  product  of  the 
An.  There  is  no  small  and  no  great  in  the  eyes  of  the  divine 
Life-Giver.  But  once  grant  that  nothing,  however  humble, 
which  feels  that  it  lives  and  suffers,  can  perish  through  the 
series  of  ages,  that  all  its  suffering  here,  if  continuous  from  the 
moment  of  its  birth  to  that  of  its  transfer  to  another  form  of 
being,  would  be  more  brief  compared  with  eternity  than  the 
cry  of  the  new-born  is  compared  to  the  whole  life  of  a  man ; 
and  once  suppose  that  this  living  thing  retains  its  sense  of 
identity  when  so  transferred  (for  without  that  sense  it  could  be 
aware  of  no  future  being),  and  though,  indeed,  the  fulfilment 
of  divine  justice  is  removed  from  the  scope  of  our  ken,  yet  we 
have  a  right  to  assume  it  to  be  uniform  and  universal,  and  not 
varying  and  partial,  as  it  would  be  if  acting  only  upon  general 
secondary  laws ;  because  such  perfect  justice  flows  of  necessity 
from  perfectness  of  knowledge  to  conceive,  perfectness  of  love 
to  will,  and  perfectness  of  power  to  complete  it. 

However  fantastic  this  belief  of  the  Vril-ya  may  be,  it  tends 
perhaps  to  confirm  politically  the  systems  of  government  which, 
admitting  differing  degrees  of  wealth,  yet  establishes  perfect 
equality  in  rank,  exquisite  mildness  in  all  relations  and  inter- 
course, and  tenderness  to  all  created  things  which  the  good  of 
the  community  does  not  require  them  to  destroy.  And  though 
their  notion  of  compensation  to  a  tortured  insect  or  a  cankered 
flower  may  seem  to  some  of  us  a  very  wild  crotchet,  yet,  at 
least,  it  is  not  a  mischievous  one;  and  it  may  furnish  matter 
for  no  unpleasing  reflection  to  think  that  within  the  abysses  of 


4(5  THE    COMING    RACt. 

earth,  never  lit  by  a  ray  from  the  material  heavens,  there 
should  have  penetrated  so  luminous  a  conviction  of  the  ineffable 
goodness  of  the  Creator — so  fixed  an  idea  that  the  general  laws 
by  which  He  acts  cannot  admit  of  any  partial  injustice  or  evil, 
and  therefore  cannot  be  comprehended  without  reference  to 
their  action  over  all  space  and  throughout  all  time.  And  since, 
as  I  shall  have  occasion  to  observe  later,  the  intellectual  con- 
ditions and  social  systems  of  this  subterranean  race  comprise 
and  harmonize  great,  and  apparently  antagonistic,  varieties  in 
philosophical  doctrine  and  speculation  which  have  from  time 
to  time  been  started,  discussed,  dismissed,  and  have  re- 
appeared amongst  thinkers  or  dreamers  in  the  upper  world,  so 
I  may  perhaps  appropriately  conclude  this  reference  to  the  be- 
lief of  the  Vril-ya,  that  self-conscious  or  sentient  life  once 
given  is  indestructible  among  inferior  creatures  as  well  as  in 
man,  by  an  eloquent  passage  from  the  work  of  that  eminent 
zoologist,  Louis  Agassiz,  which  I  have  only  just  met  with, 
many  years  after  I  had  committed  to  paper  those  recollections 
of  the  life  of  the  Vril-ya,  which  I  now  reduce  into  something 
like  arrangement  and  form:  "The  relations  which  individual 
animals  bear  to  one  another  are  of  such  a  character  that  they 
ought  long  ago  to  have  been  considered  as  sufficient  proof  that 
no  organized  being  could  ever  have  been  called  into  existence 
by  other  agency  than  by  the  direct  intervention  of  a  reflective 
mind.  This  argues  strongly  in  favor  of  the  existence  in  every 
animal  of  an  immaterial  principle  similar  to  that  which  by  its 
excellence  and  superior  endowments  places  man  so  much 
above  animals ;  yet  the  principle  unquestionably  exists,  and 
whether  it  be  called  sense,  reason,  or  instinct,  it  presents  in  the 
whole  range  of  organized  beings  a  series  of  phenomena  closely 
linked  together,  and  upon  it  are  based  not  only  the  higher 
manifestations  of  the  mind,  but  the  very  permanence  of  the 
specific  differences  which  characterize  every  organism.  Most 
of  the  arguments  in  favor  of  the  immortality  of  man  apply 
equally  to  the  permanency  of  this  principle  in  other  living 
beings.  May  I  not  add  that  a  future  life  in  which  man  would 
be  deprived  of  that  grea^  source  of  enjoyment  and  intellectual 
and  moral  improvement  which  results  from  the  contemplation  of 
the  harmonies  of  an  organic  world  would  involve  a  lamentable 
loss?  And  may  we  not  look  to  a  spiritual  concert  of  the  com- 
bined worlds  and  a//  their  inhabitants  in  the  presence  of  their 
Creator  as  the  highest  conception  of  paradise?" — "Essay  on 
Classification,"  sect,  xvii.,  pp.  97-99. 


THE    COMING    kACE.  HJ 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Kind  to  me  as  I  found  all  in  this  household,  the  young 
daughter  of  my  host  was  the  most  considerate  and  thoughtful 
in  her  kindness.  At  her  suggestion  I  laid  aside  the  habili- 
ments in  which  I  had  descended  from  the  upper  earth,  and 
adopted  the  dress  of  the  Vril-ya,  with  the  exception  of  the  art- 
ful wings  which  served  them,  when  on  foot,  as  a  graceful 
mantle.  But  as  many  of  the  Vril-ya,  when  occupied  in  urban 
pursuits,  did  not  wear  these  wings,  this  exception  created  no 
marked  difference  between  myself  and  the  race  among  which 
I  sojourned,  and  I  was  thus  enabled  to  visit  the  town  without 
exciting  unpleasant  curiosity.  Out  of  the  household  no  one 
suspected  that  I  had  come  from  the  upper  world,  and  I  was  but 
regarded  as  one  of  some  inferior  and  barbarous  tribe  whom 
Aph-Lin  entertained  as  a  guest. 

The  city  was  large  in  proportion  to  the  territory  round  it, 
which  was  of  no  greater  extent  than  many  an  English  or  Hun- 
garian nobleman's  estate;  but  the  whole  of  it,  to  the  verge  of 
the  rocks  which  constituted  its  boundary,  was  cultivated  to  the 
nicest  degree,  except  where  certain  allotments  of  mountain  and 
pasture  were  humanely  left  free  to  the  sustenance  of  the  harm- 
less animals  they  had  tamed,  though  not  for  domestic  use.  So 
great  is  their  kindness  towards  these  humbler  creatures,  that  a 
sum  is  devoted  from  the  public  treasury  for  the  purpose  of  de- 
porting them  to  other  Vril-ya  communities  willing  to  receive 
them  (chiefly  new  colonies)  whenever  they  become  too  numer- 
ous for  the  pastures  allotted  to  them  in  their  native  place. 
They  do  not,  however,  multiply  to  an  extent  comparable  to 
the  ratio  at  which,  with  us,  animals  bred  for  slaughter  increase. 
It  seems  a  law  of  nature  that  animals  not  useful  to  man  gradu- 
ally recede  from  the  domains  he  occupies,  or  even  become 
extinct.  It  is  an  old  custom  of  the  various  sovereign  states 
amidst  which  the  race  of  the  Vril-ya  are  distributed,  to  leave 
between  each  state  a  neutral  and  uncultivated  border-land. 
In  the  instance  of  the  community  I  speak  of,  this  tract,  being 
a  ridge  of  savage  rocks,  was  impassable  by  foot,  but  was  easily 
surmounted,  whether  by  the  wings  of  the  inhabitants  or  the 
air-boats,  of  which  I  shall  speak  hereafter.  Roads  through  it 
were  also  cut  for  the  transit  of  vehicles  impelled  by  vril. 
These  intercommunicating  tracts  were  always  kept  lighted, 
and  the  expense  thereof  defrayed  by  a  special  tax,  to  which  all 
the  communities  comprehended  in  the  denomination  of  Vril-ya 


48  THE    COMING    RACE. 

contribute  in  settled  proportions.  By  these  means  a  consider- 
able commercial  traffic  with  other  states,  both  near  and  dis- 
tant, was  carried  on.  The  surplus  wealth  of  this  special  com- 
munity was  chiefly  agricultural.  The  community  was  also 
eminent  for  skill  in  constructing  implements  connected  with 
the  arts  of  husbandry.  In  exchange  for  such  merchandise  it 
obtained  articles  more  of  luxury  than  necessity.  There  were 
few  things  imported  on  which  they  set  a  higher  price  than 
birds  taught  to  pipe  artful  tunes  in  concert.  These  were 
brought  from  a  great  distance,  and  were  marvellous  for  beauty 
of  song  and  plumage.  I  understood  that  extraordinary  care 
was  taken  by  their  breeders  and  teachers  in  selection,  and  that 
the  species  had  wonderfully  improved  during  the  last  few  years. 
I  saw  no  other  pet  animals  among  this  community  except  some 
very  amusing  and  sportive  creatures  of  the  Batrachian  species, 
resembling  frogs,  but  with  very  intelligent  countenances,  which 
the  children  were  fond  of,  and  kept  in  their  private  gardens. 
They  appear  to  have  no  animals  akin  to  our  dogs  or  horses, 
though  that  learned  naturalist.  Zee,  informed  me  that  such 
creatures  had  once  existed  in  those  parts,  and  might  now  be 
found  in  regions  inhabited  by  other  races  than  the  Vril-ya. 
She  said  that  they  had  gradually  disappeared  from  the  more 
civilized  world  since  the  discovery  of  vril,  and  the  results  at- 
tending that  discovery  had  dispensed  with  their  uses.  Machin- 
ery and  the  invention  of  wings  had  superseded  the  horse  as  a 
beast  of  burden;  and  the  dog  was  no  longer  wanted  either  for 
protection  or  the  chase,  as  it  had  been  when  the  ancestors  of 
the  Vril-ya  feared  the  aggressions  of  their  own  kind,  or  hunted 
the  lesser  animals  for  food.  Indeed,  however,  so  far  as  the 
horse  was  concerned,  this  region  was  so  rocky  that  a  horse 
could  have  been,  there,  of  little  use  either  for  pastime  or  bur- . 
den.  The  only  creature  they  use  for  the  latter  purpose  is  a 
kind  of  large  goat,  which  is  much  employed  on  farms.  The 
nature  of  the  surrounding  soil  in  these  districts  may  be  said  to 
have  first  suggested  the  invention  of  wings  and  air-boats.  The 
largeness  of  space,  in  proportion  to  the  rural  territory  occupied 
by  the  city,  was  occasioned  by  the  custom  of  surrounding  every 
house  with  a  separate  garden.  The  broad  main  street,  in 
which  Aph-Lin  dwelt,  expanded  into  a  vast  square,  in  which 
were  placed  the  College  of  Sages  and  all  the  public  offices ;  a 
magnificent  fountain  of  the  luminous  fluid  which  I  call  naphtha 
(I  am  ignorant  of  its  real  nature)  in  the  centre.  All  these 
public  edifices  have  a  uniform  character  of  massiveness  and 
solidity.     They  reminded  me  of  the  architectural  pictures  of 


THE    COMING    RACE.  49* 

Martin.  Along  the  upper  stories  of  each  ran  a  balcony,  or 
rather  a  terraced  garden,  supported  by  columns,  filled  with 
flowering-plants,  and  tenanted  by  many  kinds  of  tame  birds. 
From  the  square  branched  several  streets,  all  broad  and  bril- 
liantly lighted,  and  ascending  up  the  eminence  on  either  side. 
In  my  excursions  in  the  town  I  was  never  allowed  to  go  alone; 
Aph-Lin  or  his  daughter  was  my  habitual  companion.  In  this 
community  the  adult  Gy  is  seen  walking  with  any  young  An  as 
familiarly  as  if  there  were  no  difference  of  sex. 

The  retail  shops  are  not  very  numerous ;  the  persons  who 
attend  on  a  customer  are  all  children  of  various  ages,  and  ex- 
ceedingly intelligent  and  courteous,  but  without  the  least  touch 
of  importunity  or  cringing.  The  shop-keeper  himself  might 
or  might  not  be  visible ;  when  visible,  he  seemed  rarely  em- 
ployed on  any  matter  connected  with  his  professional  business ; 
and  yet  he  had  taken  to  that  business  from  special  liking  to  it, 
and  quite  independently  of  his  general  sources  of  fortune. 

Some  of  the  richest  citizens  in  the  community  kept  such 
shops.  As  I  have  before  said,  no  difference  of  rank  is  recog- 
nizable, and  therefore  all  occupations  hold  the  same  equal 
social  status.  An  An,  of  whom  I  bought  my  sandals,  was  the 
brother  of  the  Tur,  or  chief  magistrate ;  and  though  his  shop 
was  not  larger  than  that  of  any  bootmaker  in  Bond  Street  or 
Broadway,  he  was  said  to  be  twice  as  rich  as  the  Tur  who 
dwelt  in  a  palace.  No  doubt,  however,  he  had  some  country- 
seat. 

The  Ana  of  the  community  are  on  the  whole,  an  indolent  set 
of  beings  after  the  active  age  of  childhood.  Whether  by  tem- 
perament or  philosophy,  they  rank  repose  among  the  chief 
blessings  of  life.  Indeed,  when  you  take  away  from  a  human 
being  the  incentives  to  action  which  are  found  in  cupidity  or 
ambition,  it  seems  to  me  no  wonder  that  he  rests  quiet. 

In  their  ordinary  movements  they  prefer  the  use  of  their 
feet  to  that  of  their  wings.  But  for  their  sports  or  (to  indulge 
in  a  bold  misuse  of  terms)  their  public  promenades,  they  em- 
ploy the  latter,  also  for  the  aerial  dances  I  have  described,  as 
well  as  for  visiting  their  country  places,  which  are  mostly  placed 
on  lofty  heights;  and,  when  still  young,  they  prefer  their 
wings,  for  travel  into  the  other  regions  of  the  Ana,  to  vehicular 
conveyances. 

Those  who  accustom  themselves  to  flight  can  fly,  if  less  rap- 
idly than  some  birds,  yet  from  twenty-five  to  thirty  miles  an 
hour,  and  keep  up  that  rate  for  five  or  six  hours  at  a  stretch. 
But  the  Ana  generally,  on  reaching  middle  age,  are  not  fond 


50  THE    COMING    RACE., 

of  rapid  movements  requiring  violent  exercise.  Perhaps  for 
this  reason,  as  they  hold  a  doctrine  which  our  own  physicians 
will  doubtless  approve,  viz.,  that  regular  transpiration  through 
the  pores  of  the  skin  is  essential  to  health,  they  habitually  use 
the  sweating-baths  to  which  we  give  the  name  of  Turkish  or 
Roman,  succeeded  by  douches  of  perfumed  waters.  They 
have  great  faith  in  the  salubrious  virtue  of  certain  perfumes. 

It  is  their  custom  also,  at  stated  but  rare  periods,  perhaps 
four  times  a  year  when  in  health,  to  use  a  bath  charged  with 
vril.*  They  consider  that  this  fluid,  sparingly  used,  is  a  great 
sustainer  of  life ;  but  used  in  excess,  when  in  the  normal  state 
of  health,  rather  tends  to  reaction  and  exhausted  vitality.  For 
nearly  all  their  diseases,  however,  they  resort  to  it  as  the  chief 
assistant  to  nature  in  throwing  off  the  complaint. 

In  their  own  way  they  are  the  most  luxurious  of  people,  but 
all  their  luxuries  are  innocent.  They  may  be  said  to  dwell  in 
an  atmosphere  of  music  and  fragrance.  Every  room  has  its 
mechanical  contrivances  for  melodious  sounds,  usually  tuned 
down  to  soft-murmured  notes,  which  seem  like  sweet  whispers 
from  invisible  spirits.  They  are  too  accustomed  to  these  gentle 
sounds  to  find  them  a  hindrance  to  conversation,  nor,  when 
alone,  to  reflection.  But  they  have  a  notion  that  to  breathe  an 
air  filled  with  continuous  melody  and  perfume  has  necessaiily 
an  effect  at  once  smoothing  and  elevating  upon  the  formation 
of  character  and  the  habits  of  thought.  Though  so  temperate, 
and  with  total  abstinence  from  other  animal  food  than  milk, 
and  from  all  intoxicating  drinks,  they  are  delicate  and  dainty 
to  an  extreme  in  food  and  beverage;  and  in  all  their  sports 
even  the  old  exhibit  a  childlike  gayety.  Happiness  is  the  end 
at  which  they  aim,  not  as  the  excitement  of  a  moment,  but  as 
the  prevailing  condition  of  the  entire  existence;  and  regard  for 
the  happiness  of  each  other  is  evinced  by  the  exquisite  amen- 
ity of  their  manners. 

Their  conformation  of  skull  has  marked  differences  from 
that  of  any  known  races  in  the  upper  world,  though  I  cannot 
help  thinking  it  a  development,  in  the  course  of  countless  ages, 
of  the  Brachycephalic  type  of  the  Age  of  Stone  in  Lyell's 
"Elements  of  Geology,"  C.  X.,  p.  113,  as  compared  with  the 
Dolichocephalic  type  of  the  beginning  of  the  Age  of  Iron, 
correspondent  with  that  now  so  prevalent  amongst  us,  and 
called  the  Celtic  type.  It  has  the  same  comparative  massiveness 
of  forehead,  not  receding  like  the  Celtic;  the  same  even  round- 

*  I  once  tried  the  effect  of  the  vril  bath.  It  was  very  similar  in  its  invigorating  powers 
to  that  of  the  baths  at  Gastein,  the  virtues  of  which  are  ascribed  by  many  physicians  to 
•lectricity  ;  but  though  similar,  the  effect  of  the  vril  bath  was  more  lasting. 


THE    COMING    RACE.  5t 

nessin  the  frontal  organs;  but  it  is  far  loftier  in  the  apex,  and 
far  less  pronounced  in  the  hinder  cranial  hemisphere  where 
phrenologists  place  the  animal  organs.  To  speak  as  a  phrenolo- 
gist, the  cranium  common  to  the  Vril-ya  has  the  organs  of  weight, 
number,  tune,  form,  order,  causality,  very  largely  developed ; 
that  of  construction  much  more  pronounced  than  that  of  ideality. 
Those  which  are  called  the  moral  organs,  such  as  conscien- 
tiousness and  benevolence,  are  amazingly  full;  amativeness 
and  combativeness  are  both  small;  adhesiveness  large;  the 
organ  of  destructiveness  (/.  e.,  of  determined  clearance  of  inter- 
vening obstacles)  immense,  but  less  than  that  of  benevolence; 
and  their  philoprogenitiveness  takes  rather  the  character  of  com- 
passion dnd  tenderness  to  things  that  need  aid  or  protection  than 
of  the  animal  love  of  offspring.  I  never  met  with  one  person 
deformed  or  misshapen.  The  beauty  of  their  countenances  is 
not  only  in  symmetry  of  feature,  but  in  a  smoothness  of  sur- 
face, which  continues  without  line  or  wrinkle  to  the  extreme 
of  old  age,  and  a  serene  sweetness  of  expression,  combined  with 
that  majesty  which  seems  to  come  from  consciousness  of  power 
and  the  freedom  of  all  terror,  physical  or  moral.  It  is  that 
very  sweetness,  combined  with  that  majesty,  which  inspired 
in  a  beholder  like  myself,  accustomed  to  strive  with  the  passions 
of  mankind,  a  sentiment  of  humiliation,  of  awe,  of  dread.  It 
is  such  an  expression  as  a  painter  might  give  to  a  demigod,  a 
genius,  an  angel.  The  males  of  the  Vril-ya  are  entirely  beard- 
less; the  Gy-ei  sometimes,  in  old  age,  develop  a  small  moustache. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  color  of  their  skin  was  not 
uniformly  that  which  I  had  remarked  in  those  individuals  whom 
I  had  first  encountered — some  being  much  fairer,  and  even 
with  blue  eyes,  and  hair  of  a  deep  golden  auburn,  though  still  of 
complexions  warmer  or  richer  in  tone  than  persons  in  the  north 
of  Europe. 

I  was  told  that  this  admixture  of  coloring  arose  from  inter- 
marriage with  other  and  more  distant  tribes  of  the  Vril-ya, 
who,  whether  by  the  accident  of  climate  or  early  distinction  of 
race,  were  of  fairer  hues  than  the  tribes  of  which  this  com- 
munity formed  one.  It  was  considered  that  the  dark-red 
skin  showed  the  most  ancient  family  of  Ana;  but  they  attached 
no  sentiment  of  pride  to  that  antiquity,  and,  on  the  contrary 
believed  their  present  excellence  of  breed  came  from  frequent 
crossing  with  other  families  differing,  yet  akin ;  and  they  encour- 
age such  intermarriages,  always  provided  that  it  be  with  the 
Vril-ya  nations.  Nations  which,  not  conforming  their  manners 
and  institutions  to  those  of  the  Vril-ya,  nor  indeed  held  capa- 


52  THE    COMING    RACE. 

ble  of  acquiring  the  powers  over  the  vril  agencies  which  it  had 
taken  them  generations  to  attain  and  transmit,  were  regarded 
with  more  disdain  than  citizens  of  New  York  regard  the  negroes. 

I  learned  from  Zee,  who  had  more  lore  in  all  matters  than 
any  male  with  whom  I  was  brought  into  familiar  converse,  that 
the  superiority  of  the  Vril-ya  was  supposed  to  have  originated 
in  the  intensity  of  their  earlier  struggles  against  obstacles  in 
nature  amidst  the  localities  in  which  they  had  first  settled. 
"Wherever,"  said  Zee,  moralizing;  "Wherever  goes  on  that 
early  process  in  the  history  of  civilization,  by  which  life  is 
made  a  struggle,  in  which  the  individual  has  to  put  forth  all 
his  powers  to  compete  with  his  fellow,  we  invariably  find  this 
result,  viz.,  since  in  the  competition  a  vast  number  must  perish, 
nature  selects  for  preservation  only  the  strongest  specimens. 
With  our  race,  therefore,  even  before  the  discovery  of  vril,  only 
the  highest  organizations  were  preserved;  and  there  is  among  our 
ancient  books  a  legend  once  popularly  believed,  that  we  were 
driven  from  a  region  that  seems  to  denote  the  world  you  come 
from,  in  order  to  perfect  our  condition  and  attain  to  the  purest 
elimination  of  our  species  by  the  severity  of  the  struggles  our 
forefathers  underwent;  and  that,  when  our  education  shall 
become  finally  completed,  we  are  destined  to  return  to  the  upper 
world,  and  supplant  all  the  inferior  races  now  existing  therein." 

Aph-Lin  and  Zee  often  conversed  with  me  in  private  upon 
the  political  and  social  conditions  of  that  upper  world,  in  which 
Zee  so  philosophically  assumed  that  the  inhabitants  were  to  be 
exterminated  one  day  or  other  by  the  advent  of  the  Vril-ya. 
They  found  in  my  accounts — in  which  1  continued  to  do  all  I 
could  (without  launching  into  falsehoods  so  positive  that  they 
would  have  been  easily  detected  by  the  shrewdness  of  my 
listeners)  to  present  our  powers  and  ourselves  in  the  most  flatter- 
ing point  of  view — perpetual  subjects  of  comparison  between  our 
more  civilized  populations  and  the  meaner  subterranean  races 
which  they  considered  hopelessly  plunged  in  barbarism,  and 
doomed  to  gradual  if  certam  extinction.  But  they  both  agreed 
in  desiring  to  conceal  from  their  community  all  premature  open- 
ing into  the  regions  lighted  by  the  sun;  both  were  humane,  and 
shrunk  from  the  thought  of  annihilating  so  many  millions  of 
creatures ;  and  the  pictures  I  drew  of  our  life,  highly  colored 
as  they  were,  saddened  them.  In  vain  I  boasted  of  our  great 
men — poets,  philosophers,  orators,  generals — and  defied  the 
Vril-ya  to  produce  their  equals.  "Alas!"  said  Zee,  her  grand 
face  softening  into  an  angel-like  compassion,  "this  predomi- 
nance of  the  few  over  the  many  is  the  surest  and  most  fatal  sign 


THE    COMING    RACE.  53 

of  a  race  incorrigibly  savage.  See  you  not  that  the  primary 
condition  of  mortal  happiness  consists  in  the  extinction  of  that 
strife  and  competition  between  individuals,  which,  no  mat- 
ter what  forms  of  government  they  adopt,  render  the  many 
subordinate  to  the  few,  destroy  real  liberty  to  the  individual, 
whatever  may  be  the  nominal  liberty  of  the  state,  and  annul 
that  calm  of  existence,  without  which  felicity,  mental  or 
bodily,  cannot  be  attained?  Our  notion  is,  that  the  more  we 
can  assimilate  life  to  the  existence  which  our  noblest  ideas  can 
conceive  to  be  that  of  spirits  on  the  other  side  of  the  grave, 
why,  the  more  we  approximate  to  a  divine  happiness  here,  and 
the  more  easily  we  glide  into  the  conditions  of  being  hereafter. 
For,  surely,  all  we  can  imagine  of  the  life  of  gods,  or  of 
blessed  immortals,  supposes  the  absence  of  self-made  cares  and 
contentious  passions,  such  as  avarice  and  ambition.  It  seems  to 
us  that  it  must  be  a  life  of  serene  tranquillity,  not  indeed  with- 
out active  occupations  to  the  intellectual  or  spiritual  powers, 
but  occupations,  of  whatsoever  nature  they  be,  congenial  to  the 
idiosyncrasies  of  each,  not  forced  and  repugnant — a  life  glad- 
dened by  the  untrammelled  interchange  of  gentle  affections,  in 
which  the  moral  atmosphere  utterly  kills  hate  and  vengeance, 
and  strife  and  rivalry.  Such  is  the  political  state  to  which 
all  the  tribes  and  families  of  the  Vril-ya  seek  to  attain,  and 
towards  that  goal  all  our  theories  of  government  are  shaped. 
You  see  how  utterly  opposed  is  such  a  progress  to  that  of  the 
uncivilized  nations  from  which  you  come,  and  which  aim  at  a 
systematic  perpetuity  of  troubles,  and  cares,  and  warring  pas- 
sions, aggravated  more  and  more  as  their  progress  storms  its  way 
onward.  The  most  powerful  of  all  the  races  in  our  world, 
beyond  the  pale  of  the  Vril-ya,  esteems  itself  the  best  governed 
of  all  political  societies,  and  to  have  reached  in  that  respect  the 
extreme  end  at  which  political  wisdom  can  arrive,  so  that  the 
other  nations  should  tend  more  or  less  to  copy  it.  It  has  estab- 
lished, on  its  broadest  base,  the  Koom-Posh,  viz.,  the  govern- 
ment of  the  ignorant  upon  the  principle  of  being  the  most 
numerous.  It  has  placed  the  supreme  bliss  in  the  vying  with 
each  other  in  all  things,  so  that  the  evil  passions  are  never  in 
repose — vying  for  power,  for  wealth,  for  eminence  of  some 
kind ;  and  in  this  rivalry  it  is  horrible  to  hear  the  vituperation, 
the  slanders,  and  calumnies  which  even  the  best  and  mildest 
among  them  heap  on  each  other  without  remorse  or  shame." 

"Some  years  ago,"  said  Aph-Lin,  "I  visited  this  people,  and 
their  misery  and  degradation  were  the  more  appalling  because 
they  were  always  boasting  of  their  felicity  and  grandeur  as  com- 


i54  THE    COMING    RACE. 

pared  with  the  rest  of  their  species.  And  there  is  no  hope  that 
this  people,  which  evidently  resembles  your  own,  can  improve, 
because  all  their  notions  tend  to  further  deterioration.  They 
desire  to  enlarge  their  dominion  more  and  more,  in  direct  antago- 
nism to  the  truth  that,  beyond  a  very  limited  range,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  secure  to  a  community  the  happiness  which  belongs  to  a 
well-ordered  family;  and  the  more  they  mature  a  system  by 
which  a  few  individuals  are  heated  and  swollen  to  a  size  above 
the  standard  slenderness  of  the  millions,  the  more  they  chuckle 
and  exact,  and  cry  out,  'See  by  what  great  exceptions  to  the 
common  littleness  of  our  race  we  prove  the  magnificent  results 
of  our  system!'  " 

"In  fact,"  resumed  Zee,  "if  the  wisdom  of  human  life  be  to 
approximate  to  the  serene  equality  of  immortals,  there  can  be 
no  more  direct  flying  off  into  the  opposite  direction  than  a  sys- 
tem which  aims  at  carrying  to  the  utmost  the  inequalities  and 
turbulences  of  mortals.  Nor  do  I  see  how,  by  any  forms  of 
religious  belief,  mortals,  so  acting,  could  fit  themselves  even 
to  appreciate  the  joys  of  immortals  to  which  they  still  expect 
to  be  transferred  by  the  mere  act  of  dying.  On  the  contrary, 
minds  accustomed  to  place  happiness  in  things  so  much  the 
reverse  of  godlike,  would  find  the  happiness  of  gods  exceedingly 
dull,  and  would  long  to  get  back  to  a  world  in  which  they 
could  quarrel  with  each  other." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

I  HAVE  spoken  so  much  of  the  Vril  Staff  that  my  reader  may 
expect  me  to  describe  it.  This  I  cannot  do  accurately,  for  I 
was  never  allowed  to  handle  it  for  fear  of  some  terrible  accident 
occasioned  by  my  ignorance  of  its  use.  It  is  hollow,  and  has 
in  the  handle  several  stops,  keys,  or  springs  by  which  its  force 
can  be  altered,  modified,  or  directed — so  that  by  one  process 
it  destroys,  by  another  it  heals;  by  one  it  can  rend  the  rock, 
by  another  disperse  the  vapor;  by  one  it  affects  bodies,  by 
another  it  can  exercise  a  certain  influence  over  minds.  It  is 
usually  carried  in  the  convenient  size  of  a  walking-staff,  but  it 
has  slides  by  which  it  can  be  lengthened  or  shortened  at  will. 
When  used  for  special  purposes,  the  upper  part  rests  in  the 
hollow  of  the  palm,  with  the  fore  and  middle  fingers  protruded. 
I  was  assured,  however,  that  its  power  was  not  equal  in  all,  but 
proportioned  to  the  amount  of  certain  vril  properties  in  the 
wearer,  in  affinity,  or  rapport,  with  the  purposes  to  be  effected. 


THE    COMING     RACE.  55 

Some  were  more  potent  to  destroy,  others  to  heal,  etc. ;  much 
also  depended  on  the  calm  and  steadiness  of  volition  in  the  man- 
ipulator. They  assert  that  the  full  exercise  of  vril  power  can  only 
be  acquired  by  constitutional  temperament,  i.e.,  by  hereditary 
transmitted  organization,  and  that  a  female  infant  of  four  years 
old  belonging  to  the  Vril-ya  races  can  accomplish  feats  with 
the  wand  placed  for  the  first  time  in  her  hand,  which  a  life  spent 
in  its  practice  would  not  enable  the  strongest  and  most  skilled 
mechanician,  born  out  of  the  pale  of  the  Vril-ya,  to  achieve. 
All  these  wands  are  not  equally  complicated;  those  entrusted 
to  children  are  much  simpler  than  those  born  by  sages  of  either 
sex,  and  constructed  v/ith  a  view  to  the  special  object  in  which 
the  children  are  employed ;  which,  as  I  have  before  said,  is 
among  the  youngest  children  the  most  destructive.  In  the 
wands  of  wives  and  mothers  the  correlative  destroying  force 
is  usually  abstracted,  the  healing  power  fully  charged.  I  wish 
I  could  say  more  in  detail  of  this  singular  conductor  of  the  vril 
fluid,  but  its  machinery  is  as  exquisite  as  its  effects  are  marvel- 
lous. 

I  should  say,  however,  that  this  people  have  invented  certain 
tubes  by  which  the  vril  fluid  can  be  conducted  towards  the 
object  it  is  meant  to  destroy,  throughout  a  distance  almost 
indefinite;  at  least  I  put  it  modestly  when  I  say  from  500  to 
600  miles.  And  their  mathematical  science  as  applied  to  such 
purpose  is  so  nicely  accurate,  that  on  the  report  of  some  observer 
in  an  air-boat,  any  member  of  the  vril  department  can  estimate 
unerringly  the  nature  of  intervening  obstacles,  the  height  to 
which  the  projectile  instrument  should  be  raised,  and  the  ex- 
tent to  which  it  should  be  charged,  so  as  to  reduce  to  ashes 
within  a  space  of  time  too  short  for  me  to  venture  to  specify  it, 
a  capital  twice  as  vast  as  London. 

Certainly  these  Ana  are  wonderful  mechanicians — wonderful 
for  the  adaptation  of  the  inventive  faculty  to  practical  uses. 

I  went  with  my  host  and  his  daughter  Zee  over  the  great 
public  museum,  which  occupies  a  wing  in  the  College  of  Sages, 
and  in  which  are  hoarded,  as  curious  specimens  of  the  ignorant 
and  blundering  experiments  of  ancient  times,  many  contrivances 
on  which  we  pride  ourselves  as  recent  achievements.  In  one 
department,  carelessly  thrown  aside  as  obsolete  lumber,  are  tubes 
for  destroying  life  by  metallic  balls  and  an  inflammable  powder, 
on  the  principle  of  our  cannons  and  catapults,  and  even  still 
more  murderous  than  our  latest  improvements. 

My  host  spoke  of  these  with  a  smile  of  contempt,  such  as  an 
artillery  officer  might  bestow  on  the  bows  and  arrows  ot  the 


$6  THE    COMING    RACE. 

Chinese.  In  another  department  there  were  models  of  vehicles 
and  vessels  worked  by  steam,  and  of  a  balloon  which  might 
have  been  constructed  by  Montgolfier.  "Such,"  said  Zee, 
with  an  air  of  meditative  wisdom — "such  were  the  feeble 
triflings  with  nature  of  our  savage  forefathers,  ere  they  had 
even  a  glimmering  perception  of  the  properties  of  vril." 

This  young  Gy  was  a  magnificent  specimen  of  the  muscular 
force  to  which  the  females  of  her  country  attain.  Her  features 
were  beautiful,  like  those  of  all  her  race:  never  in  the  upper 
world  have  I  seen  a  face  so  grand  and  so  faultless,  but  her  de- 
votion to  the  severer  studies  had  given  to  her  countenance  an 
expression  of  abstract  thought  which  rendered  it  somewhat  stern 
when  in  repose ;  and  such  sternness  became  formidable  when 
observed  in  connection  with  her  ample  shoulders  and  lofty 
stature.  She  was  tall  even  for  a  Gy,  and  I  saw  her  lift  up  a 
cannon  as  easily  as  I  could  lift  a  pocket-pistol.  Zee  inspired 
me  with  a  profound  terror — a  terror  which  increased  when  we 
came  into  a  department  of  the  museum  appropriated  to  models 
of  contrivances  worked  by  the  agency  of  vril ;  for  here,  merely 
by  a  certain  play  of  her  vril  staff,  she  herself  standing  at  a  dis- 
tance, she  put  into  movement  large  and  weighty  substances. 
She  seemed  to  endow  them  with  intelligence,  and  to  make  them 
comprehend  and  obey  her  command.  She  set  complicated 
pieces  of  machinery  into  movement,  arrested  the  movement  or 
continued  it,  until,  within  an  incredibly  short  time,  various 
kinds  of  raw  material  were  produced  as  symmetrical  works  of 
art,  complete  and  perfect.  Whatever  effect  mesmerism  or  elec- 
tro-biology produces  over  the  nerves  and  muscles  of  animated 
objects,  this  young  Gy  produced  by  the  motions  of  her  slen- 
der rod  over  the  springs  and  wheels  of  lifeless  mechanism. 

When  I  mentioned  to  my  companions  my  astonishment  at 
this  influence  over  inanimate  matter — while  owning  that,  in  our 
world,  I  had  witnessed  phenomena  which  showed  that  over 
certain  living  organizations  certain  other  living  organizations 
could  establish  an  influence  genuine  in  itself,  but  often  exag- 
gerated by  credulity  or  craft,  Zee,  who  was  more  interested  in 
such  subjects  than  her  father,  bade  me  stretch  forth  my  hand, 
and  then,  placing  her  own  beside  it,  she  called  my  attention  to 
certain  distinctions  of  type  and  character.  In  the  first  place,  the 
thumb  of  the  Gy  (and,  as  I  afterwards  noticed,  of  all  that  race, 
male  or  female)  was  much  larger,  at  once  longer  and  more  mas- 
sive, than  is  found  with  our  species  above  ground.  There  is 
almost,  in  this,  as  great  a  difference  as  there  is  between  the 
thumb  of  a  man  and  that  of  a  gorilla.     Secondly,  the  palm  is 


THE    COMING    RACfi.  57 

proportionately  thicker  than  ours,  the  texture  of  the  skin  in- 
finitely finer  and  softer — its  average  waimth  is  greater.  More 
remarkable  than  all  this,  is  a  visible  nerve,  perceptible  under 
the  skin,  which  starts  from  the  wrist,  skirting  the  ball  of  the 
thumb,  and  branching,  fork-like,  at  the  roots  of  the  fore  and 
middle  fingers.  "With  your  slight  formation  of  thumb,"  said 
the  philosophical  young  Gy,  "and  with  the  absence  of  the 
nerve  which  you  find  more  or  less  developed  in  the  hands  of 
our  race,  you  can  never  achieve  other  than  imperfect  and  feeble 
power  over  the  agency  of  vril ;  but  so  far  as  the  nerve  is  con- 
cerned, that  is  not  found  in  the  hands  of  our  earliest  progenitors, 
nor  in  those  of  the  ruder  tribes  without  the  pale  of  the  Vril-ya. 
It  has  been  slowly  developed  in  the  course  of  generations,  com- 
mencing in  the  early  achievements,  and  increasing  with  the  con- 
tinuous exercise,  of  the  vril  power;  therefore,  in  the  course  of 
one  or  two  thousand  years,  such  a  nerve  may  possibly  be  en- 
gendered in  those  higher  beings  of  your  race  who  devote  them- 
selves to  that  paramount  science  through  which  is  attained 
command  over  all  the  subtler  forces  of  nature  permeated  by  vril. 
But  when  you  talk  of  matter  as  something  in  itself  inert  and  mo- 
tionless, your  parents  or  tutors  surely  cannot  have  left  you  so  ig- 
norant as  not  to  know  that  no  form  of  matter  is  motionless  and 
inert:  every  particle  is  constantly  in  motion  and  constantly 
acted  upon  by  agencies,  of  which  heat  is  the  most  apparent  and 
rapid,  but  vril  the  most  subtle,  and,  when  skilfully  wielded  the 
most  powerful.  So  that,  in  fact,  the  current  launched  by  my 
hand  and  guided  by  my  will  does  but  render  quicker  and  more 
potent  the  action  which  is  eternally  at  work  upon  every  particle 
of  matter,  however  inert  and  stubborn  it  may  seem.  If  a  heap 
of  metal  be  not  capable  of  originating  a  thought  of  its  own, 
yet,  through  its  internal  susceptibility  to  movement,  it  obtains 
the  power  to  receive  the  thought  of  the  intellectual  agent  at 
work  on  it:  and  which,  when  conveyed  with  a  sufficient  force 
of  the  vril  power,  it  is  as  much  compelled  to  obey  as  if  it 
were  displaced  by  a  visible  bodily  force.  It  is  animated  for  the 
time  being  by  the  soul  thus  infused  into  it,  so  that  one  may 
almost  say  that  it  lives  and  it  reasons.  Without  this  we  could 
not  make  our  automata  supply  the  place  of  servants." 

I  was  too  much  in  awe  of  the  thews  and  the  learning  of  the 
young  Gy  to  hazard  the  risk  of  arguing  with  her.  I  had  read 
somewhere  in  my  schoolboy  days  that  a  wise  man,  disputing 
with  a  Roman  emperor,  suddenly  drew  in  his  horns ;  and  when 
the  Emperor  asked  him  whether  he  had  nothing  further  to  say 
on  his  side  of  the  question,  replied:     "Nay,  Caesar,  there  is 


58  THE    COMING    RACE. 

no  arguing  against  a  reasoner  who  commands  twenty-five 
legions." 

Though  I  had  a  secret  persuasion  that,  whatever  the  real 
effects  of  vril  upon  matter,  Mr.  Faraday  could  have  proved  her 
a  very  shallow  philosopher  as  to  its  extent  or  its  causes,  I  had 
no  doubt  that  Zee  could  have  brained  all  the  Fellows  of  the 
Royal  Society,  one  after  the  other,  with  a  blow  of  her  fist. 
Every  sensible  man  knows  that  it  is  useless  to  argue  with  any 
ordinary  female  upon  matters  he  comprehends;  but  to  argue 
with  a  Gy  seven  feet  high  upon  the  mysteries  of  vril — as  well 
argue  in  a  desert,  and  with  a  simoom! 

Amid  the  various  departments  to  which  the  vast  building  of 
the  College  of  Sages  was  appropriated,  that  which  interested 
me  most  was  devoted  to  the  archaeology  of  the  Vril-ya,  and 
comprised  a  very  ancient  collection  of  portraits.  In  these 
the  pigments  and  groundwork  employed  were  of  so  durable  a 
nature  that  even  pictures  said  to  be  executed  at  dates  as  re- 
mote as  those  in  the  earliest  annals  of  the  Chinese,  retained 
much  freshness  of  color.  In  examining  this  collection,  two 
things  especially  struck  me:  firstly,  that  the  pictures  said  to  be 
between  6000  and  7000  years  old,  were  of  a  much  higher  de- 
gree of  art  than  any  produced  within  the  last  3000  or  4000 
years:  and  secondly,  that  the  portraits  within  the  former  peri- 
od much  more  resembled  our  own  upper  world  and  European 
types  of  countenance.  Some  of  them,  indeed,  reminded  me  of 
the  Italian  heads  which  look  out  from  the  canvas  of  Titian — 
speaking  of  ambition  or  craft,  of  care  or  of  grief,  with  furrows  in 
which  the  passions  have  passed  with  iron  ploughshare.  These 
were  the  countenances  of  men  who  had  lived  in  struggle  and 
conflict  before  the  discovery  of  the  latent  forces  of  vril  had 
changed  the  character  of  society — men  who  had  fought  with 
each  other  for  power  or  fame  as  we  in  the  upper  world  fight. 

The  type  of  face  began  to  evince  a  marked  change  about 
a  thousand  years  after  the  vril  revolution,  becoming  then,  with 
each  generation,  more  serene,  and  in  that  serenity  more  terri- 
bly distinct  from  the  faces  of  laboring  and  sinful  men;  while 
in  proportion  as  the  beauty  and  the  grandeur  of  the  counte- 
nance itself  became  more  fully  developed,  the  art  of  the 
painter  became  more  tame  and  monotonous. 

But  the  greatest  curiosity  in  the  collection  was  that  of  three 
portraits  belonging  to  the  pre-historical  age,  and,  according  to 
mythical  tradition,  taken  by  the  orders  of  a  philosopher,  whose 
origin  and  attributes  were  as  much  mixed  up  with  symbolical 
fable  as  those  of  an  Indian  Budh  or  a  Greek  Prometheus. 


THE    COMING    RACE.  59 

From  this  mysterious  personage,  at  once  a  sage  and  a  hero, 
all  the  principal  sections  of  the  Vril-ya  race  pretend  to  trace  a 
common  origin. 

The  portraits  are  of  the  philosopher  himself,  of  his  grand- 
father, and  great-grandfather.  They  are  all  at  full  length. 
The  philosopher  is  attired  in  a  long  tunic  which  seems  to  form 
a  loose  suit  of  scaly  armor,  borrowed,  perhaps,  from  some  fish 
or  reptile,  but  the  feet  and  hands  are  exposed;  the  digits  in 
both  are  wonderfully  long,  and  webbed.  He  has  little  or  no 
perceptible  throat,  and  a  low  receding  forehead,  not  at  all  the 
ideal  of  a  sage's.  He  has  bright  brown  prominent  eyes,  a  very- 
wide  mouth  and  high  cheek-bones,  and  a  muddy  complexion. 
According  to  tradition,  this  philosopher  had  lived  to  a  patri- 
archal age,  extending  over  many  centuries,  and  he  remembered 
distinctly  in  middle  life  his  grandfather  as  surviving,  and  in 
childhood  his  great-grandfather;  tlie  portrait  of  the  first  he 
had  taken,  or  caused  to  be  taken,  while  yet  alive;  that  of  the 
latter  was  taken  from  his  effigies  in  mummy.  The  portrait  of 
the  grandfather  had  the  features  and  aspect  of  the  philosopher, 
only  much  more  exaggerated:  he  was  not  dressed,  and  the 
color  of  his  body  was  singular ;  the  breast  and  stomach  yellow, 
the  shoulders  and  legs  of  a  dull  bronze  hue;  the  great-grand- 
father was  a  magnificent  specimen  of  the  Batrachian  genius,  a 
Giant  Frog,  pur  et  simple. 

Among  the  pithy  sayings  which,  according  to  tradition,  the 
philosopher  bequeathed  to  posterity  in  rhythmical  form  and 
sententious  brevity,  this  is  notably  recorded:  "Humble  your- 
selves, my  descendants;  the  father  of  our  race  was  a  twat 
(tadpole):  exalt  yourselves,  my  descendants,  for  it  was  the 
same  Divine  Thought  which  created  your  father  that  devel- 
opes  itself  in  exalting  you." 

Aph-Lin  told  me  of  this  fable  while  I  gazed  on  the  three 
Batrachian  portraits.  I  said  in  reply:  "You  make  a  jest  of 
my  supposed  ignorance  and  credulity  as  an  uneducated  Tish, 
but  though  these  horrible  daubs  may  be  of  great  antiquity,  and 
were  intended,  perhaps,  for  some  rude  caricature,  I  presume 
that  none  of  our  race,  even  in  the  less  enlightened  ages,  ever 
believed  that  the  great-grandson  of  a  frog  became  a  sententious 
philosopher;  or  that  any  section,  I  will  not  say  of  the  lofty 
Vril-ya,  but  of  the  meanest  varieties  of  the  human  race,  had 
its  origin  in  a  Tadpole." 

"Pardon  me,"  answered  Aph-Lin;  "in  what  we  call  the 
Wrangling  or  Philosophical  Period  of  History,  which  was  at  its 
height  about  se\en  thousand  years  ago,  there  was  a  very  dis- 


6o  THE    COMING     RACE. 

tinguished  naturalist,  who  proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  numer- 
ous disciples  such  analogical  and  anatomical  agreements  in 
structure  between  an  An  and  a  Frog,  as  to  show  that  out  of  the 
one  must  have  developed  the  other.  They  had  some  diseases 
in  common;  they  were  both  subject  to  the  same  parasitical 
worms  in  the  intestines ;  and,  strange  to  say,  the  An  has,  in 
his  structure,  a  swimming-bladder,  no  longer  of  any  use  to 
him,  but  which  is  a  rudiment  that  clearly  proves  his  descent 
from  a  Frog.  Nor  is  there  any  argument  against  this  theory  to 
be  found  in  the  relative  difference  of  size,  for  there  are  still  ex- 
istent in  our  world  Frogs  of  a  size  and  stature  not  inferior  to 
our  own,  and  many  thousand  years  ago  they  appear  to  have 
been  still  larger." 

"I  understand  that,"  said  I,  "because  Frogs  thus  enormous 
are,  according  to  our  eminent  geologists,  who  perhaps  saw 
them  in  dreams,  said  to  have  been  distinguished  inhabitants  of 
the  upper  world  before  the  Deluge;  and  such  Frogs  are  ex- 
actly the  creatures  likely  to  have  flourished  in  the  lakes  and 
morasses  of  your  subterranean  region.     But  pray,  proceed." 

"In  the  Wrangling  Period  of  History,  whatever  one  sage 
asserted  another  sage  was  sure  to  contradict.  In  fact,  it  was 
a  maxim  in  that  age,  that  the  human  reason  could  only  be  sus- 
tained aloft  by  being  tossed  to  and  fro  in  the  perpetual  motion 
of  contradiction ;  and  therefore  another  set  of  philosophers 
maintained  the  doctrine  that  the  An  was  not  the  descendant  of 
the  Frog,  but  that  the  Frog  was  clearly  the  improved  develop- 
ment of  the  An.  The  shape  of  the  Frog,  taken  generally,  was 
much  more  symmetrical  than  that  of  the  An;  beside  the  beau- 
tiful conformation  of  its  lower  limbs,  its  flanks,  and  shoulders, 
the  majority  of  the  Ana  in  that  day  were  almost  deformed,  and 
certainly  ill-shaped.  Again,  the  Frog  had  the  power  to  live 
alike  on  land  and  in  water — a  mighty  privilege,  partaking  of  a 
spiritual  essence  denied  to  the  An,  since  the  disuse  of  his  swim- 
ing-bladder  clearly  proves  his  degeneration  from  a  higher  de- 
velopment of  species.  Again,  the  earlier  races  of  the  Ana 
seem  to  have  been  covered  with  hair,  and,  even  to  a  compara- 
tively recent  date,  hirsute  bushes  deformed  the  very  faces  of 
our  ancestors,  spreading  wild  over  their  cheeks  and  chin,  as 
similar  bushes,  my  poor  Tish,  spread  wild  over  yours.  But  the 
object  of  the  higher  races  of  the  Ana  through  countless  gener- 
ation has  been  to  erase  all  vestige  of  connection  with  hairy 
vertebrata,  and  they  have  gradually  eliminated  that  debasing 
capillary  excrement  by  the  law  of  sexual  selection;  the  Gy-ei 
naturally  preferring  youth  or  the  beauty  of  smooth  faces.     But 


THE    COMING    RACE.  6l 

the  degree  of  the  Frog  in  the  scale  of  the  vertebrata  is  shown 
in  this,  that  he  has  no  hair  at  all,  not  even  on  his  head.  He 
was  born  to  that  hairless  perfection  which  the  most  beautiful  of 
the  Ana,  despite  the  culture  of  incalculable  ages,  have  not  yet 
attained.  The  wonderful  complication  and  delicacy  of  a 
Frog's  nervous  system  and  arterial  circulation  were  shown  by 
this  school  to  be  more  susceptible  of  enjoyment  than  our  infe- 
rior, or  at  least  simpler,  physical  frame  allows  us  to  be.  The 
examination  of  a  Frog's  hand,  if  I  may  use  that  expression, 
accounted  for  its  keener  susceptibility  to  love,  and  to  social 
life  in  general.  In  fact,  gregarious  and  amatory  as  are  the 
Ana,  Frogs  are  still  more  so.  In  short,  these  two  schools 
raged  against  each  other;  one  asserting  the  An  to  be  the  per- 
fected type  of  the  Frog;  the  other  that  the  Frog  was  the  high- 
est development  of  the  An.  The  moralists  were  divided  in 
opinion  with  the  naturalists,  but  the  bulk  of  them  sided  with 
the  Frog-preference  school.  They  said,  with  much  plausibility, 
that  in  moral  conduct  (viz.,  in  the  adherence  to  rules  best 
adapted  to  the  health  and  welfare  of  the  individual  and  the 
community)  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  vast  superiority 
of  the  Frog.  All  history  showed  the  wholesale  immorality  of 
the  human  race,  the  complete  disregard,  even  by  the  most  re- 
nowned among  them,  of  the  laws  which  they  acknowledge  to 
be  essential  to  their  own  and  the  general  happiness  and  well- 
being.  But  the  severest  critic  of  the  Frog  race  could  not  detect 
in  their  manners  a  single  aberration  from  the  moral  law  tacitly 
recognized  by  themselves.  And  what,  after  all,  can  be  the 
profit  of  civilization  if  superiority  in  moral  conduct  be  not  the 
aim  for  which  it  strives,  and  the  test  by  which  its  progress 
should  be  judged? 

"In  fine,  the  adherents  to  this  theory  presumed  that  in  some 
remote  period  the  Frog  race  had  been  the  improved  develop- 
ment of  the  Human;  but  that,  from  causes  which  defied 
rational  conjecture,  they  had  not  maintained  their  original  po- 
sition in  the  scale  of  nature;  while  the  Ana,  though  of  inferior 
organization,  had,  by  dint  less  of  their  virtues  than  their  vices, 
such  as  ferocity  and  cunning,  gradually  acquiring  ascendancy, 
much  as  among  the  human  race  itself  tribes  utterly  barbarous 
have,  by  superiority  in  similar  vices,  utterly  destroyed  or  re- 
duced into  insignificance  tribes  originally  excelling  them  in 
mental  gifts  and  culture.  Unhappily  these  disputes  became 
involved  with  the  religious  notion  of  that  age;  and  as  society 
was  then  adminstered  under  the  government  of  the  Koom- 
Posh,  who,  being  the  most  ignorant,  were  of  course  the  most 


63  THE    COMING    RACE. 

inflammable  class,  the  multitude  took  the  whole  question  out  of 
the  hands  of  the  philosophers;  political  chiefs  saw  that  the 
Frog  dispute,  so  taken  up  by  the  populace,  could  become  a 
most  valuable  instrument  of  their  ambition ;  and  for  not  less 
than  one  thousand  years  war  and  massacre  prevailed,  during 
which  period  the  philosophers  on  both  sides  were  butchered, 
and  the  government  of  the  Koom-Posh  itself  was  happily 
brought  to  an  end  by  the  ascendancy  of  a  family  that  clearly 
established  its  descent  from  the  aboriginal  tadpole,  and  fur- 
nished despotic  rulers  to  the  various  nations  of  the  Ana. 
These  despots  finally  disappeared,  at  least  from  our  communi- 
ties, as  the  discovery  of  vril  led  to  the  tranquil  institutions 
under  which  flourish  all  the  races  of  the  Vril-ya, " 

"And  do  no  wranglers  or  philosophers  now  exist  to  revive 
the  dispute;  or  do  they  all  recognize  the  origin  of  your  race  in 
the  tadpole?" 

"Nay,  such  disputes,"  said  Zee,  with  a  lofty  smile,  "belong 
to  the  Pah-bodh  of  the  dark  ages,  and  now  only  serve  for  the 
amusement  of  infants.  When  we  know  the  elements  out  of 
which  our  bodies  are  composed — elements  common  to  the 
humblest  vegetable  plants — can  it  signify  whether  the  All- 
Wise  combined  those  elements  out  of  one  form  more  than  an- 
other, in  order  to  create  that  in  which  He  has  placed  the 
capacity  to  receive  the  idea  of  Himself,  and  all  the  varied 
grandeurs  of  intellect  to  which  that  idea  gives  birth?  The 
An  in  reality  commenced  to  exist  as  An  with  the  donation  of 
that  capacity,  and  with  that  capacity,  the  sense  to  acknowledge 
that,  however  through  the  countless  ages  his  race  may  improve 
in  wisdom,  it  can  never  combine  the  elements  at  its  command 
into  the  form  of  a  tadpole." 

"You  speak  well.  Zee,"  said  Aph-Lin;  "and  it  is  enough  for 
us  short-lived  mortals  to  feel  a  reasonable  assurance  that 
whether  the  origin  of  the  An  was  a  tadpole  or  not,  he  is  no 
more  likely  to  become  a  tadpole  again  than  the  institutions  of 
the  Vril-ya  are  likely  to  relapse  into  the  heaving  quagmire  and 
certain  strife-rot  of  a  Koom-Posh." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

The  Vril-ya,  being  excluded  from  all  sight  of  the  heavenly 
bodies,  and  having  no  other  difference  between  night  and  day 
than  that  which  they  deem  it  convenient  to  make  for  them- 
selves, do  not,  of  course,  arrive  at  their  divisions  of  time  by 


THE   COMING    RACE.  6$ 

the  same  process  that  we  do;  but  I  found  it  easy,  by  the  aid 
of  my  watch,  which  I  luckily  had  about  me,  to  compute  their 
time  with  great  nicety.  I  reserve  for  a  future  work  on  the 
science  and  literature  of  the  Vril-ya,  should  I  live  to  complete 
it,  all  details  as  to  the  manner  in  which  they  arrive  at  their 
notation  of  time:  and  content  myself  here  with  saying,  that  in 
point  of  duration,  their  year  differs  very  slightly  from  ours,  but 
that  the  divisions  of  their  year  are  by  no  means  the  same. 
Their  day  (including  what  we  call  night)  consists  of  twenty 
hours  of  our  time,  instead  of  twenty-four,  and  of  course  their 
year  comprises  the  correspondent  increase  in  the  number  of 
days  by  which  it  is  summed  up.  They  subdivide  the  twenty 
hours  of  their  day  thus — eight  hours,*  called  the  "Silent 
Hours,"  for  repose;  eight  hours,  called  the  "Lamest  Time," 
for  the  pursuits  and  occupations  of  life;  and  four  hours,  called 
the  "Easy  Time"  (with  which  what  I  may  term  their  day 
closes),  allotted  to  festivities,  sport,  recreation,  or  family  con- 
verse, according  to  their  several  tastes  and  inclinations.  But 
in  truth,  out  of  doors  there  is  no  night.  They  maintain,  both 
in  the  streets  and  in  the  surrounding  country,  to  the  limits  of 
their  territory,  the  same  degree  of  light  at  all  hours.  Only, 
within  doors,  they  lower  it  to  a  soft  twilight  during  the  Silent 
Hours.  They  have  a  great  horror  of  perfect  darkness,  and 
their  lights  are  never  wholly  extinguished.  On  occasions  of 
festivity  they  continue  the  duration  of  full  light,  but  equally 
keep  note  of  the  distinction  between  night  and  day,  by  me- 
chanical contrivances  which  answer  the  purpose  of  our  clocks 
and  watches.  They  are  very  fond  of  music;  and  it  is  by  music 
that  these  chronometers  strike  the  principal  division  of  time. 
At  every  one  of  their  hours,  during  their  day,  the  sounds  com- 
ing from  all  the  timepieces  in  their  public  buildings,  and 
caught  up,  as  it  were,  by  those  of  houses  or  hamlets  scattered 
amidst  the  landscapes  without  the  city,  have  an  effect  singu- 
larly sweet,  and  yet  singularly  solemn.  But  during  the  Silent 
Hours  these  sounds  are  so  subdued  as  to  be  only  faintly  heard 
by  a  waking  ear.  They  have  no  change  of  seasons,  and,  at 
least  in  the  territory  of  this  tribe,  the  atmosphere  seemed  to  me 
very  equable,  warm  as  that  of  an  Italian  summer,  and  humid 
rather  than  dry ;  in  the  forenoon  usually  very  still,  but  at  times 
invaded  by  strong  blasts  from  the  rocks  that  made  the  borders 
of  their  domain.  But  time  is  the  same  to  them  for  solving  or 
reaping  as  in  the  Golden  Isles  of  the  ancient  poets.     At  the 

*  For  the  sake  of  convenience,  I  adopt  the  words  hours,  days,  years,  etc.,  in  any  general 
reference  to  subdivisions  of  time  among  the  Vril-ya — those  terms  but  loosely  correspond- 
ing, however,  with  such  subdivisions. 


64  THE   COMING    RACE. 

same  moment  you  see  the  younger  plants  in  blade  or  bud,  the 
older  in  ear  or  fruit.  All  fruit-bearing  plants,  however,  after 
fruitage,  either  shed  or  change  the  color  of  their  leaves.  But 
that  which  interested  me  most  in  reckoning  up  their  divisions 
of  time  was  the  ascertainment  of  the  average  duration  of  life 
amongst  them.  I  found  on  minute  inquiry  that  this  very  con- 
siderably exceeded  the  term  allotted  to  us  on  the  upper  earth. 
What  seventy  years  are  to  us,  one  hundred  years  are  to  them. 
Nor  is  this  the  only  advantage  they  have  over  us  in  longevity, 
for  as  few  among  us  attain  to  the  age  of  seventy,  so,  on  the 
contrary,  few  among  them  die  before  the  age  of  one  hundred; 
and  they  enjoy  a  general  degree  of  health  and  vigor  which 
makes  life  itself  a  blessing  even  to  the  last.  Various  cau.ses 
contribute  to  this  result :  the  absence  of  all  alcoholic  stimu- 
lants; temperance  in  food;  more  especially,  perhaps,  a  seren- 
ity of  mind  undisturbed  by  anxious  occupations  and  eager  pas- 
sions. They  are  not  tormented  by  our  avarice  or  our  ambition; 
they  appear  perfectly  indifferent  even  to  the  desire  of  fame ; 
they  are  capable  of  great  affection,  but  their  love  shows  itself 
in  a  tender  and  cheerful  complaisance,  and  while  forming  their 
happiness,  seems  rarely,  if  ever,  to  constitute  their  woe.  As 
the  Gy  is  sure  only  to  marry  where  she  herself  fixes  her  choice, 
and  as  here,  not  less  than  above  ground,  it  is  the  female  on 
whom  the  happiness  of  home  depends ;  so  the  Gy,  having  chosen 
the  mate  she  prefers  to  all  others,  is  lenient  to  his  faults,  con- 
sults his  humors,  and  does  her  best  to  secure  his  attachment. 
The  death  of  a  beloved  one  is  of  course  with  them,  as  with  us, 
a  cause  of  sorrow ;  but  not  only  is  death  with  them  so  much 
more  rare  before  that  age  in  which  it  becomes  a  release,  but 
when  it  does  occur  the  survivor  takes  much  more  consolation 
than,  I  am  afraid,  the  generality  of  us  do,  in  the  certainty  of 
reunion  in  another  and  yet  happier  life. 

All  these  causes,  then,  concur  to  their  healthful  and  enjoy- 
able longevity,  though,  no  doubt,  much  also  must  be  owing 
to  hereditary  organization.  According  to  their  records,  how- 
ever, in  those  earlier  stages  of  their  society  when  they  lived  in 
communities  resembling  ours,  agitated  by  fierce  competition, 
their  lives  were  considerably  shorter,  and  their  maladies  more 
numerous  and  grave.  They  themselves  say  that  the  duration 
of  life,  too,  has  increased,  and  is  still  on  the  increase,  since 
their  discovery  of  the  invigorating  and  medicinal  properties  of 
vril,  applied  for  remedial  purposes.  They  have  few  profes- 
sional and  regular  practitioners  of  medicine,  and  these  are 
chiefly  Gy-ei,  who,  especially  if  widowed  and  childless,  find 


THE   COMING   RACE.  6$ 

great  delight  in  the  healing  art,  and  even  undertake  surgical 
operations  in  those  cases  required  by  accident,  or,  more  rarely, 
by  disease. 

They  have  their  diversions  and  entertainments,  and,  during 
the  Easy  Time  of  their  day,  they  are  wont  to  assemble  in  great 
numbers  for  those  winged  sports  in  the  air  which  I  have  already 
described.  They  have  also  public  halls  for  music,  and  even 
theatres,  at  which  are  performed  pieces  that  appeared  to  me 
somewhat  to  resemble  the  plays  of  the  Chinese — dramas  that 
are  thrown  back  into  distant  times  for  their  events  and  per- 
sonages, in  which  all  classic  unities  are  outrageously  violated, 
and  the  hero,  in  one  scene  a  child,  in  the  next  is  an  old  man, 
and  so  forth.  These  plays  are  of  very  ancient  composition. 
They  appeared  to  me  extremely  dull  on  Die  whole,  but  were 
relieved  by  startling  mechanical  contrivances,  a  kind  of  farcical 
broad  humor,  and  detached  passages  of  great  vigor  and  power 
expressed  in  language  highly  poetical,  but  somewhat  over- 
charged with  metaphor  and  trope.  In  fine,  they  seemed  to  me 
very  much  what  the  plays  of  Shakspeare  seemed  to  a  Parisian  in 
the  time  of  Louis  XV.,  or  perhaps  to  an  Englishman  in  the 
reign  of  Charles  II. 

The  audience,  of  which  the  Gy-ei  constituted  the  chief  por- 
tion, appeared  to  enjoy  greatly  the  representation  of  these 
dramas,  which,  for  so  sedate  and  majestic  a  race  of  females, 
surprised  me,  till  I  observed  that  all  the  performers  were  under 
the  age  of  adolescence,  and  conjectured  truly  that  the  mothers 
and  sisters  came  to  please  their  children  and  brothers. 

I  have  said  that  these  dramas  are  of  great  antiquity.  No 
new  plays,  indeed  no  imaginative  works  sufficiently  important  to 
survive  their  immediate  day,  appear  to  have  been  composed  for 
several  generations.  In  fact,  though  there  is  no  lack  of  new 
publications,  and  they  have  even  what  may  be  called  news- 
papers, these  are  chiefly  devoted  to  mechanical  science,  reports 
of  new  inventions,  announcements  respecting  various  details  of 
business — in  short,  to  practical  matters.  Sometimes  a  child 
writes  a  little  tale  of  adventure,  or  a  young  Gy  vents  her  amor- 
ous hopes  or  fears  in  a  poem :  but  these  effusions  are  of  very  little 
merit,  and  are  seldom  read  except  by  children  and  maiden 
Gy-ei.  The  most  interesting  works  of  a  purely  literary  charac- 
ter are  those  of  explorations  and  travels  into  other  regions  of 
this  nether  world,  which  are  generally  written  by  young  emi- 
grants, and  are  read  with  great  avidity  by  the  relations  and 
friends  they  have  left  behind. 

I  could  not  help  expressing  to  Aph-Lin  my  surprise  that  x 


66  THE   COMING    RACE. 

community  in  which  mechanical  science  had  made  so  marvellous 
a  progress,  and  in  which  intellectual  civilization  had  exhibited 
itself  in  realizing  those  objects  for  the  happiness  of  the  people, 
which  the  political  philosophers  above  ground  had,  after  ages 
of  struggle,  pretty  generally  agreed  to  consider  unattainable 
visions,  should,  nevertheless,  be  so  wholly  without  a  contempo- 
raneous literature,  despite  the  excellence  to  which  culture  had 
brought  a  language  at  once  rich  and  simple,  vigorous  and 
musical. 

My  host  replied:  "Do  you  not  perceive  that  a  literature 
such  as  you  mean  would  be  wholly  incompatible  with  that  per- 
fection of  social  or  political  felicity  at  which  you  do  us  the 
honor  to  think  we  have  arrived?  We  have  at  last,  after  cen- 
turies of  struggle,  settled  into  a  form  of  government  with  which 
we  are  content,  and  in  which,  as  we  allow  no  differences  of 
rank,  and  no  honors  are  paid  to  administrators  distinguishing 
them  from  others,  there  is  no  stimulus  given  to  individual  am- 
bition. No  one  would  read  works  advocating  theories  that  in- 
volved any  political  or  social  change,  and  therefore  no  one 
writes  them.  If  now  and  then  an  An  feels  himself  dissatisfied 
with  our  tranquil  mode  of  life,  he  does  not  attack  it ;  he  goes 
away.  Thus  all  that  part  of  literature  (and  to  judge  by  the 
ancient  books  in  our  public  libraries,  it  was  once  a  very  large 
part)  which  relates  to  speculative  theories  on  society  is  become 
utterly  extinct.  Again,  formerly  there  was  a  vast  deal  written 
respecting  the  attributes  and  essence  of  the  All-Good,  and  the 
arguments  for  and  against  a  future  state ;  but  now  we  all  rec- 
ognize two  facts,  that  there  is  a  Divine  Being,  and  there  is  a 
future  state,  and  we  all  equally  agree  that  if  we  wrote  our  fin- 
gers to  the  bone,  we  could  not  throw  any  light  upon  the  nature 
and  conditions  of  that  future  state,  or  quicken  our  apprehen- 
sions of  the  attributes  and  essence  of  that  Divine  Being.  Thus 
another  part  of  literature  has  become  also  extinct,  happily  for 
our  race;  for  in  the  times  when  so  much  was  written  on  sub- 
jects which  no  one  could  determine,  people  seemed  to  live  in  a 
perpetual  state  of  quarrel  and  contention.  So,  too,  a  vast  part 
of  our  ancient  literature  consists  of  historical  records  of  wars 
and  revolutions  during  the  times  when  the  Ana  lived  in  large 
and  turbulent  societies,  each  seeking  aggrandizement  at  the 
expense  of  the  other.  You  see  our  serene  mode  of  life  now ; 
such  it  has  been  for  ages.  We  have  no  events  to  chronicle. 
What  more  of  us  can  be  said  than  that  'they  were  born,  they 
were  happy,  they  died  '?  Com.ing  next  to  that  part  of  litera- 
ture which  is  more  under  the  control  of  the  imagination,  such 


THE  COMING   RACE.  67 

as  what  we  call  Glaubsila,  or  colloquially  'Glaubs,'  and  you 
call  poetry,  the  reasons  for  its  decline  amongst  us  are  abun- 
dantly obvious. 

"We  find,  by  referring  to  the  great  masterpieces  in  that  de- 
partment of  literature  which  we  all  still  read  with  pleasure,  but 
of  which  none  would  tolerate  imitations,  that  they  consist  in  the 
portraiture  of  passions  which  we  no  longer  experience — ambi- 
tion, vengeance,  unhallowed  love,  the  thirst  for  warlike  renown, 
and  such  like.  The  old  poets  lived  in  an  atmosphere  impreg- 
nated with  these  passions,  and  felt  vividly  what  they  expressed 
glo^vingly.  No  one  can  express  such  passions  now,  for  no  one 
can  feel  them,  or  meet  with  any  sympathy  in  his  readers  if  he 
did.  Again,  the  old  poetry  has  a  main  element  in  its  dissection 
of  those  complex  mysteries  of  human  character  which  conduce 
to  abnormal  vices  and  crimes,  or  lead  to  signal  and  extraor- 
dinary virtues.  But  our  society,  having  got  rid  of  tempta- 
tions to  any  prominent  vices  and  crimes,  has  necessarily  ren- 
dered the  moral  average  so  equal,  that  there  are  no  very  salient 
virtues.  Without  its  ancient  food  of  strong  passions,  vast 
crimes,  heroic  excellences,  poetry  therefore,  is,  if  not  actually 
starved  to  death,  reduced  to  a  very  meagre  diet.  There  is  still 
the  poetry  of  description — description  of  rocks,  and  trees,  and 
waters,  and  common  household  life;  and  our  young  Gy-ei 
weave  much  of  this  insipid  kind  of  composition  into  their  love 
verses." 

"Such  poetry,"  said  I,  "might  surely  be  made  very  charm- 
ing; and  we  have  critics  amongst  us  who  consider  it  a  higher 
kind  than  that  which  depicts  the  crimes,  or  analyzes  the  pas- 
sions, of  man.  At  all  events,  poetry  of  the  insipid  kind  you 
mention  is  a  poetry  that  nowadays  commands  more  read- 
ers than  any  other  among  the  people  I  have  left  above 
ground." 

"Possibly;  but  then  I  suppose  the  writers  take  great  pains 
with  the  language  they  employ,  and  devote  themselves  to  the 
culture  and  polish  of  words  and  rhythms  as  an  art?" 

"Certainly  they  do:  all  great  poets  must  do  that.  Though 
the  gift  of  poetry  may  be  inborn,  the  gift  requires  as  much  care 
to  make  it  available  as  a  block  of  metal  does  to  be  made  into 
one  of  your  engines." 

"And  doubtless  your  poets  have  some  incentive  to  bestow 
all  those  pains  upon  such  verbal  prettinesses?" 

"Well,  I  presume  their  instinct  of  song  would  make  them 
sing  as  the  bird  does ;  but  to  cultivate  the  song  into  verbal  or 
artificial  prettiness,  probably  does  not  need  an   inducement 


68  THE   COMING    RAC£. 

from  without,  and  our  poets  find  it  in  the  love  of  fame — per* 
haps,  now  and  then,  in  the  want  of  money." 

"Precisely  so.  But  in  our  society  we  attach  fame  to  noth- 
ing which  man,  in  that  moment  of  his  duration  which  is 
called  'life,'  can  perform.  We  should  soon  lose  that  equality 
which  constitutes  the  felicitous  essence  of  our  commonwealth 
if  we  selected  any  individual  for  pre-eminent  praise:  pre- 
eminent praise  would  confer  pre-eminent  power,  and  the  mo- 
ment it  were  given,  evil  passions,  now  dormant,  would  awake ; 
other  men  would  immediately  covet  praise,  then  would  arise 
envy,  and  with  envy  hate,  and  with  hate  calumny  and  persecu- 
tion. Our  history  tells  us  that  most  of  the  poets  and  most  of 
the  writers  who,  in  the  old  time,  were  favored  with  the  greatest 
praise,  were  also  assailed  by  the  greatest  vituperation,  and 
even,  on  the  whole,  rendered  very  unhappy,  partly  by  the 
attacks  of  jealous  rivals,  partly  by  the  diseased  mental  consti- 
tution which  an  acquired  sensitiveness  to  praise  and  to  blame 
tends  to  engender.  As  for  the  stimulus  of  want ;  in  the  first 
place,  no  man  in  our  community  knows  the  goad  of  poverty ; 
and,  secondly,  if  he  did,  almost  every  occupation  would  be 
more  lucrative  than  writing. 

"Our  public  libraries  contain  all  the  books  of  the  past  which 
time  has  preserved ;  those  books,  for  the  reasons  above  stated, 
are  infinitely  better  than  any  can  write  nowadays,  and  they  are 
open  to  all  to  read  without  cost.  We  are  not  such  fools  as  to 
pay  for  reading  inferior  books,  when  we  can  read  superior 
books  for  nothing." 

"With  us,  novelty  has  an  attraction;  and  a  new  book,  if 
bad,  is  read  when  an  old  book,  though  good,  is  neglected." 

"Novelty,  to  barbarous  states  of  society  struggling  in  de- 
spair for  something  better,  has  no  doubt  an  attraction,  denied 
to  us,  who  see  nothing  to  gain  in  novelties ;  but,  after  all,  it  is 
observed  by  one  of  our  great  authors  four  thousand  years  ago, 
that  'he  who  studies  old  books  will  always  find  in  them  some- 
thing new,  and  he  who  reads  new  books  will  always  find  in 
them  something  old.'  But  to  return  to  the  question  you  have 
raised,  there  being  then  among  us  no  stimulus  to  painstaking 
labor,  whether  in  desire  of  fame  or  in  pressure  of  want,  such 
as  have  the  poetic  temperament,  no  doubt,  vent  it  in  song,  as 
you  say  the  bird  sings ;  but  for  lack  of  elaborate  culture  it  fails 
of  an  audience,  and,  failing  of  an  audience,  dies  out,  of  itself, 
amidst  the  ordinary  avocations  of  life." 

"But  how  is  it  that  these  discouragements  to  the  cultivation 
•f  literature  do  not  operate  against  that  of  science?' ' 


THE   COMING    RACE.  69 

"Your  question  amazes  me.  The  motive  to  science  is  the 
love  of  truth  apart  from  all  consideration  of  fame,  and  science 
with  us  too  is  devoted  almost  solely  to  practical  uses,  essential 
to  our  social  conservation  and  the  comforts  of  our  daily  life. 
No  fame  is  asked  by  the  inventor,  and  none  is  given  to  him ; 
he  enjoys  an  occupation  congenial  to  his  tastes,  and  needing  no 
wear  and  tear  of  the  passions.  Man  must  have  exercise  for  his 
mind  as  well  as  body;  and  continuous  exercise,  rather  than 
violent,  is  best  for  both..  Our  most  ingenious  cultivators  of 
science  are,  as  a  general  rule,  the  longest  lived  and  the  most 
free  from  disease.  Painting  is  an  amusement  to  many,  but  the 
art  is  not  what  it  was  in  former  times,  when  the  great  painters 
in  our  various  communities  vied  with  each  other  for  the  prize 
of  a  golden  crown,  which  gave  them  a  social  rank  equal  to  that 
of  the  kings  under  whom  they  lived.  You  will  thus  doubtless 
have  observed  in  our  archaeological  department  how  superior 
in  point  of  art  the  pictures  were  several  thousand  years  ago. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  music  is,  in  reality,  more  allied  to 
science  than  it  is  to  poetry,  that,  of  all  the  pleasurable  arts, 
music  is  that  which  flourishes  the  most  amongst  us.  Still, 
even  in  music  the  absence  of  stimulus  in  praise  or  fame  has 
served  to  prevent  any  great  superiority  of  one  individual  over 
another;  and  we  rather  excel  in  choral  music,  with  the  aid  of 
our  vast  mechanical  instruments,  in  which  we  make  great  use  of 
the  agency  of  water,*  than  in  single  performers.  We  have  had 
scarcely  any  original  composer  for  some  ages.  Our  favorite 
airs  a^i  very  ancient  in  substance,  but  have  admitted  many 
complicated  variations  by  inferior,  though  ingenious,  mu- 
sicians." 

"Are  there  no  political  societies  among  the  Ana  which  are 
animated  by  those  passions,  subjected  to  those  crimes,  and  ad- 
mitting those  disparities  in  condition,  in  intellect,  and  in  mo- 
rality, which  the  state  of  your  tribe,  or  indeed  of  the  Vril-ya 
generally,  has  left  behind  in  its  progress  to  perfection?  If  so, 
among  such  societies  perhaps  Poetry  and  her  sister  arts  still 
continue  to  be  honored  and  to  improve?" 

"There  are  such  societies  in  remote  regions  but  we  do  not 
admit  them  within  the  pale  of  civilized  communities;  we 
scarcely  even  give  them  the  name  of  Ana,  and  certainly  not 
that  of  Vril-ya.  They  are  barbarians,  living  chiefly  in  that 
low  stage  of  being,  Koom-Posh,  tending  necessarily,  to  its  own 

*  This  may  remind  the  student  of  Nero's  invention  of  a  musical  machine,  by  which 
water  was  made  to  perform  the  part  of  an  orchestra,  and  on  which  he  was  employed  when 
the  conspiracy  against  him  broke  out. 


7©  THE   COMING   RACE. 

hideous  dissolution  in  Glek-Nas.  Their  wretched  existence  is 
passed  in  perpetual  contest  and  perpetual  change.  When  they 
do  not  fight  with  their  neighbors,  they  fight  among  themselves. 
They  are  divided  into  sections,  which  abuse,  plunder,  and 
sometimes  murder  each  other,  and  on  the  most  frivolous  points 
of  difference  that  would  be  unintelligible  to  us  if  we  had  not 
read  history,  and  seen  that  we  too  have  passed  through  the  same 
early  state  of  ignorance  and  barbarism.  Any  trifle  is  sufficient 
to  set  them  together  by  the  ears.  They  pretend  to  be  all  equals, 
and  the  more  they  have  struggled  to  be  so,  by  removing  old 
distinctions  and  starting  afresh,  the  more  glaring  and  intolerable 
the  disparity  becomes,  because  nothing  in  hereditary  affections 
and  associations  is  left  to  soften  the  one  naked  distinction  be- 
tween the  many  who  have  nothing  and  the  few  who  have  much. 
Of  course  the  many  hate  the  few,  but  without  the  few  they 
could  not  live.  The  many  are  always  assailing  the  few ;  some- 
times they  exterminate  the  few;  but  as  soon  as  they  have  done 
so,  a  new  few  starts  out  of  the  many,  and  is  harder  to  deal  with 
than  the  old  few.  For  where  societies  are  large,  and  competi- 
tion to  have  something  is  the  predominant  fever,  there  must  be 
always  many  losers  and  few  gainers.  In  short,  the  people  I 
speak  of  are  savages  groping  their  way  in  the  dark  towards 
some  gleam  of  light,  and  would  demand  our  commiseration  for 
their  infirmities,  if,  like  all  savages,  they  did  not  provoke  their 
own  destruction  by  their  arrogance  and  cruelty.  Can  you  im- 
agine that  creatures  of  this  kind,  armed  only  with  such  miser- 
able weapons  as  you  may  see  in  our  museum  of  antiquities, 
clumsy  iron  tubes  charged  with  saltpetre,  have  more  than  once 
threatened  with  destruction  a  tribe  of  the  Vril-ya,  which  dwells 
nearest  to  them,  because  they  say  they  have  thirty  millions  of 
population — and  that  tribe  may  have  fifty  thousand — if  the 
latter  do  not  accept  their  notions  of  Soc-Sec  (money-getting) 
on  some  trading  principles  which  they  have  the  impudence  to 
call  a  'law  of  civilization'?" 

"But  thirty  millions  of  population  are  formidable  odds 
against  fifty  thousand!" 

My  host  stared  at  me  astonished.  "Stranger,"  said  he, 
"you  could  not  have  heard  me  say  that  this  threatened  tribe 
belongs  to  the  Vril-ya;  and  it  only  waits  for  these  savages  to 
declare  war,  in  order  to  commission  some  half  a  dozen  small 
children  to  sweep  away  their  whole  population." 

At  these  words  I  felt  a  thrill  of  horror,  recognizing  much 
more  aflSnity  with  "the  savages,"  than  I  did  with  the  Vril-ya, 
and  remembering  all  I  had  said  in  praise  of  the  glorious  Ameri' 


THE   COMING    RACE.  ^t 

can  institutions,  which  Aph-Lin  stigmatized  as  Koom-Posh. 
Recovering  my  self-possession,  I  asked  if  there  were  modes  d. 
transit  by  which  I  could  safely  visit  this  temerarious  and  re- 
mote people. 

"You  can  travel  with  safety,  by  vril  agency,  either  along  the 
ground  or  amid  the  air,  throughout  all  the  range  of  the  com- 
munities with  which  we  are  allied  and  akin;  but  I  cannot 
vouch  for  your  safety  in  barbarous  nations  governed  by  differ- 
ent laws  from  ours ;  nations,  indeed,  so  benighted  that  there 
are  among  them  large  numbers  who  actually  live  by  stealing 
from  each  other,  and  one  could  not  with  safety  in  the  Silent 
Hours  even  leave  the  doors  of  one's  own  house  open." 

Here  our  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
Tae,  who  came  to  inform  us  that  he,  having  been  deputed  to 
discover  and  destroy  the  enormous  reptile  which  I  had  seen  on 
my  first  arrival,  had  been  on  the  watch  for  it  ever  since  his 
visit  to  me,  and  had  begun  to  suspect  that  my  eyes  had  deceived 
me,  or  that  the  creature  had  made  its  way  through  the  cavities 
within  the  rocks  to  the  wild  regions  in  which  dwelt  its  kindred 
race,  when  it  gave  evidences  of  its  whereabouts  by  a  great  devas- 
tation of  the  herbage  bordering  one  of  the  lakes.  "And"  said 
Tae,  "I  feel  sure  that  within  that  lake  it  is  now  hiding.  So 
(turning  to  me)  I  thought  it  might  amuse  you  to  accompany  me 
to  see  the  way  we  destroy  such  unpleasant  visitors."  As  I 
looked  at  the  face  of  the  young  child,  and  called  to  mind  the 
enormous  size  of  the  creature  he  proposed  to  exterminate,  I  felt 
myself  shudder  with  fear  for  him,  and  perhaps  fear  for  myself, 
if  I  accompanied  him  in  such  a  chase.  But  my  curiosity  to 
witness  the  destructive  effects  of  the  boasted  vril,  and  my  un- 
willingness to  lower  myself  in  the  eyes  of  an  infant  by  betray- 
ing apprehensions  of  personal  safety,  prevailed  over  my  first 
impulse.  Accordingly,  I  thanked  Tae  for  his  courteous  con- 
sideration for  my  amusement,  and  professed  my  willingness  to 
set  out  with  him  on  so  diverting  an  enterprise. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

As  Tae  and  myself,  on  quitting  the  town,  and  leaving  to  the 
left  the  main  road  which  led  to  it,  struck  into  the  fields,  the 
strange  and  solemn  beauty  of  the  landscape,  lighted  up,  by 
numberless  lamps,  to  the  verge  of  the  horizon,  fascinated  my 
eyes  and  rendered  me  for  some  time  an  inattentive  listener  to 
the  talk  of  my  companion. 

Along  our  way  various  operations  of  agriculture  were  being 


^»  THfi  COmInC   race. 

carried  on  by  machinery,  the  forms  of  which  were  new  to  me, 
and  for  the  most  part  very  graceful ;  for  among  these  people 
art  being  so  cultivated  for  the  sake  of  mere  utility  exhibits 
itself  in  adorning  or  refining  the  shapes  of  useful  objects. 
Precious  metals  and  gems  are  so  profuse  among  them  that 
they  are  lavished  on  things  devoted  to  purposes  the  most  com- 
monplace ;  and  their  love  of  utility  leads  them  to  beautify  its 
tools,  and  quickens  their  imagination  in  a  way  unknown  to 
themselves. 

In  all  service,  whether  in  or  out  of  doors,  they  make  great 
use  of  automaton  figures,  which  are  so  ingenious,  and  so  pliant 
to  the  operations  of  vril,  that  they  actually  seem  gifted  with 
reason.  It  was  scarcely  possible  to  distinguish  the  figures  I  be- 
held, apparently  guiding  or  superintending  the  rapid  movement 
of  vast  engines,  from  human  forms  endowed  with  thought. 

By  degrees,  as  we  continued  to  walk  on,  my  attention  became 
roused  by  the  lively  and  acute  remarks  of  my  companion.  The 
intelligence  of  the  children  among  this  race  is  marvellously 
precocious,  perhaps  from  the  habit  of  having  entrusted  to 
them,  at  so  early  an  age,  the  toils  and  responsibilities  of  middle 
age.  Indeed,  in  conversing  with  Tae,  I  felt  as  if  talking  with 
some  superior  and  observant  man  of  my  own  years.  I  asked  him 
if  he  could  form  any  estimate  of  the  number  of  communities 
into  which  the  race  of  the  Vril-ya  is  subdivided. 

*'Not  exactly,"  he  said,  "because  they  multiply,  of  course, 
every  year  as  the  surplus  of  each  community  is  drafted  off. 
But  I  heard  my  father  say  that,  according  to  the  last  report, 
there  were  a  million  and  a  half  of  communities  speaking  our 
language,  and  adopting  our  institutions  and  forms  of  life  and 
government ;  but,  I  believe,  with  some  differences,  about  which 
you  had  better  ask  Zee.  She  knows  more  than  most  of  the 
Ana  do.  An  An  cares  less  for  things  that  do  not  concern 
him  than  a  Gy  does;  the  Gy-ei  are  inquisitive  creatures." 

"Does  each  community  restrict  itself  to  the  same  number  of 
families  or  amount  of  population  that  you  do?" 

"No;  some  have  much  smaller  populations,  some  have 
larger — varying  according  to  the  extent  of  the  country  they  ap- 
propriate, or  to  the  degree  of  excellence  to  which  they  have 
brought  their  machinery.  Each  community  sets  its  own  limit  ac- 
cording to  circumstances,  taking  care  always  that  there  shall 
never  arise  any  class  of  poor  by  the  pressure  of  population  upon 
the  productive  powers  of  the  domain,  and  that  no  state  shall  be 
too  large  for  a  government  resembling  that  of  a  single  well- 
prdered  family.     I  imagine  that  no  Vril  community  exceeds  thir- 


THE    COMING    RACfe.  93 

ty  thousand  households.  But,  as  a  general  rule,  the  smaller  the 
community,  provided  there  be  hands  enough  to  do  justice  to 
the  capacities  of  the  territory  it  occupies,  the  richer  each  indi- 
vidual is,  and  the  larger  the  sum  contributed  to  the  general 
treasury, — above  all,  the  happier  and  the  more  tranquil  is  the 
whole  political  body  and  the  more  perfect  the  products  of  its 
industry.  The  state  which  all  tribes  of  the  Vril-ya  acknowl- 
edge to  be  the  highest  in  civilization,  and  which  has  brought 
the  vril  force  to  its  fullest  development,  is  perhaps  the  smallest. 
It  limits  itself  to  four  thousand  families;  but  every  inch  of  its 
territory  is  cultivated  to  the  utmost  perfection  of  garden  ground ; 
its  machinery  excels  that  of  every  other  tribe ;  and  there  is  no 
product  of  its  industry  in  any  department  which  is  not  sought 
for  at  extraordinary  prices,  by  each  community  of  our  race. 
All  our  tribes  make  this  state  their  model,  considering  that  we 
should  reach  the  highest  state  of  civilization  allowed  to  mor- 
tals if  we  could  unite  the  greatest  degree  of  happiness  with  the 
highest  degree  of  intellectual  achievement;  and  it  is  clear  that 
the  smaller  the  society  the  less  difficult  that  will  be.  Ours  is 
too  large  for  it." 

This  reply  set  me  thinking.  I  reminded  myself  of  that  little 
state  of  Athens,  with  only  twenty  thousand  free  citizens,  and 
which  to  this  day  our  mightiest  nations  regard  as  the  supreme 
guide  and  model  in  all  departments  of  intellect.  But  then  Athens 
permitted  fierce  rivalry  and  perpetual  change,  and  was  cer- 
tainly not  happy.  Rousing  myself  from  the  revery  into  which 
these  reflections  had  plunged  me,  I  brought  back  our  talk  to 
the  subjects  connected  with  emigration. 

"But,"  said  I,  "when,  I  suppose  yearly,  a  certain  number 
among  you  agree  to  quit  home  and  found  a  new  community  else- 
where, they  must  necessarily  be  very  few,  and  scarcely  sufficient, 
even  with  the  help  of  the  machines  they  take  with  them,  to 
clear  the  ground  and  build  towns,  and  form  a  civilized 
state  with  the  comforts  and  luxuries  in  which  they  had  been 
reared." 

'  'You  mistake.  All  the  tribes  of  the  Vril-ya  are  in  constant 
communication  with  each  other,  and  settle  amongst  themselves 
each  year  what  proportion  of  one  community  will  unite  with  the 
emigrants  of  another  so  as  to  form  a  state  of  sufficient  size: 
and  the  place  for  emigration  is  agreed  upon  at  least  a  year  be- 
fore, and  pioneers  sent  from  each  state  to  level  rocks,  and  em- 
bank waters,  and  construct  houses ;  so  that  when  the  emigrants 
at  last  go,  they  find  a  city  already  made,  and  a  country  around 
it  at  least  partially  cleared.     Our  hardy  life  as  children  makes 


>J4  i'HE    COMING     RACE. 

US  take  cheerfully  to  travel  and  adventure.  I  mean  to  emigrate 
myself  when  of  age." 

"Do  the  emigrants  always  select  places  hitherto  uninhabited 
and  barren?" 

"As  yet  generally,  because  it  is  our  rule  never  to  destroy  ex- 
cept where  necessary  to  our  well-being.  Of  course,  we  cannot 
settle  in  lands  already  occupied  by  the  Vril-ya;  and  if  we  take 
the  cultivated  lands  of  the  other  races  of  Ana,  we  must  utterly 
destroy  the  previous  inhabitants.  Sometimes,  as  it  is,  we  take 
waste  spots,  and  find  that  a  troublesome,  quarrelsome  race  of 
Ana,  especially  if  under  the  administration  of  Koom-Posh  or 
Glek-Nas,  resents  our  vicinity,  and  picks  a  quarrel  with  us; 
then,  of  course,  as  menacing  our  welfare,  we  destroy  it:  there 
is  no  coming  to  terms  of  peace  with  a  race  so  idiotic  that  it  is 
always  changing  the  form  of  government  which  represents  it. 
Koom-Posh,"  said  the  child  emphatically,  "is  bad  enough, 
still  it  has  brains,  though  at  the  back  of  its  head,  and  is  not 
without  a  heart;  but  in  Glek-Nas  the  brain  and  heart  of  the 
creatures  disappear,  and  they  become  all  jaws,  claws,  and  belly." 

"You  express  yourself  strongly.  Allow  me  to  inform  you 
that  I  myself,  and  I  am  proud  to  say  it,  am  the  citizen  of  a 
Koom-Posh." 

"I  no  longer,"  answered  Tae,  "wonder  to  see  you  here  so 
far  from  your  home.  What  was  the  condition  of  your  native 
community  before  it  became  a  Koom-Posh?" 

"A  settlement  of  emigrants — like  those  settlements  which 
your  tribe  sends  forth — but  so  far  unlike  your  settlements,  that 
it  was  dependent  on  the  state  from  which  it  came.  It  shook 
off  that  yoke,  and,  crowned  with  eternal  glory,  became  a  Koom- 
Posh." 

"Eternal  glory!  how  long  has  the  Koom-Posh  lasted?" 

"About  I  GO  years." 

"The  length  of  an  An's  life — a  very  young  community.  In 
much  less  than  another  loo  years  your  Koom-Posh  will  be  a 
Glek-Nas." 

"Nay,  the  oldest  states  in  the  world  I  come  from  have  such 
faith  in  its  duration,  that  they  are  all  gradually  shaping  their 
institutions  so  as  to  melt  into  ours;  and  their  most  thouglitful 
politicians  say  that,  whether  they  like  it  or  not,  the  inevitable 
tendency  of  these  old  states  is  towards  Koom-Posh-erie." 

"The  old  states?" 

"Yes,  the  old  states." 

"With  populations  very  small  in  proportion  to  the  area  of 
productive  land?" 


THE     COxMlNG     RACE.  75 

"On  the  contrary,  with  populations  very  large  in  proportion 
to  that  area." 

"I  see!  old  states  indeed! — so  old  as  to  become  drivelling  if 
they  don't  pack  off  that  surplus  population  as  we  do  ours — very 
old  states! — very,  very  old!  Pray,  Tish,  do  you  think  it  wise 
for  very  old  men  to  try  to  turn  head-over-heels  as  very  young 
children  do?  And  if  you  asked  them  why  they  attempted  such 
antics,  should  you  not  laugh  if  they  answered  that  by  imitating 
very  young  children  they  could  become  very  young  children 
themselves?  Ancient  history  abounds  with  instances  of  this 
sort  a  great  many  thousand  years  ago — and  in  every  instance 
a  very  old  state  that  played  at  Koom-Posh  soon  tumbled  into 
Glek-Nas.  Then,  in  horror  of  its  own  self  it  cried  out  for  a 
master,  as  an  old  man  in  his  dotage  cries  out  for  a  nurse ;  and 
after  a  succession  of  masters  or  nurses,  more  or  less  long,  that 
very  old  state  died  out  of  history.  A  very  old  state  attempting 
Koom-Posh-erie  is  like  a  very  old  man  who  pulls  down  the 
house  to  which  he  has  been  accustomed,  but  he  has  so  exhausted 
his  vigor  in  pulling  down  that  all  he  can  do  in  the  way  of  re- 
building is  to  run  up  a  crazy  hut,  in  which  himself  and  his  suc- 
cessors whine  out, 'How  the  wind  blows!  How  the  walls  shake!"' 

"My  dear  Tae,  I  make  all  excuse  for  your  unenlightened 
prejudices,  which  every  schoolboy  educated  in  a  Koom-Posh 
could  easily  controvert,  though  he  might  not  be  so  precociously 
learned  in  ancient  history  as  you  appear  to  be." 

"I  learned!  not  a  bit  of  it.  But  would  a  schoolboy  educated 
in  your  Koom-Posh  ask  his  great-great-grandfather  or  great- 
great-grandmother  to  stand  on  his  or  her  head  with  the  feet 
uppermost?  and  if  the  poor  old  folks  hesitated — say,  'What 
do  you  fear? — see  how  I  do  it!*  " 

"Tae,  I  disdain  to  argue  with  a  child  of  your  age.  I  repeat, 
I  make  allowances  for  your  want  of  that  culture  which  a  Koom- 
Posh  alone  can  bestow." 

"I  in  my  turn,"  answered  Tae,  with  an  air  of  the  suave 
but  lofty  good  breeding  which  characterizes  his  race,  "not 
only  make  allowances  for  you  as  not  educated  among  the  Vril- 
ya,  but  I  entreat  you  to  vouchsafe  me  your  pardon  for  insuffi- 
cient respect  to  the  habits  and  opinions  of  so  amiable  a — 
Tish!" 

I  ought  before  to  have  observed  that  I  was  commonly  called 
Tish  by  my  host  and  his  family,  as  being  a  polite  and  indeed 
a  pet  name,  metaphorically  signifying  a  small  barbarian,  literal- 
ly a  Froglet;  the  children  apply  it  endearingly  to  the  tame 
species  of  Frog  which  they  keep  in  their  gardens. 


^6  THE    C6MiNG    RACfi. 

We  had  now  reached  the  banks  of  a  lake,  and  Tae  here 
paused  to  point  out  to  me  the  ravages  made  in  fields  skirting  it. 
"The  enemy  certainly  lies  within  these  waters,"  said  I'ae. 
"Observe  what  shoals  of  fish  are  crowded  together  at  the  mar- 
gin. Even  the  great  fishes  with  the  small  ones,  who  are  their 
habitual  prey  and  who  generally  shun  them,  all  forget  their 
instincts  in  the  presence  of  a  common  destroyer.  This  reptile 
certainly  must  belong  to  the  class  of  the  Krek-a,  a  class  more 
devouring  than  any  other,  and  said  to  be  among  the  few  sur- 
viving species  of  the  world's  dreadest  inhabitants  before  the 
Ana  were  created.  The  appetite  of  a  Krek  is  insatiable — it 
feeds  alike  upon  vegetable  and  animal  life;  but  for  the  swift- 
footed  creatures  of  the  elk  species  it  is  too  slow  in  its  move- 
ments. Its  favorite  dainty  is  an  An  when  it  can  catch  him 
unawares;  and  hence  the  Ana  destroy  it  relentlessly  whenever 
it  enters  their  dominion,  I  have  heard  that  when  our  fore- 
fathers first  cleared  this  country,  these  monsters,  and  others  like 
them,  abounded,  and,  vril  being  then  undiscovered,  many  of 
our  race  were  devoured.  It  was  impossible  to  exterminate  them 
wholly  till  that  discovery  which  constitutes  the  power  and  sus- 
tains the  civilization  of  our  race.  But  after  the  uses  of  vril 
became  familiar  to  us,  all  creatures  inimical  to  us  were  soon 
annihilated.  Still,  once  a  year  or  so,  one  of  these  enormous 
reptiles  wanders  from  the  unreclaimed  and  savage  districts  be- 
yond, and  within  my  memory  one  seized  upon  a  young  Gy  who 
was  bathing  in  this  very  lake.  Had  she  been  on  land  and 
armed  with  her  staff  it  would  not  have  dared  even  to  show  itself; 
for,  like  all  savage  creatures,  the  reptile  has  a  marvellous  in- 
stinct, which  warns  it  against  the  bearer  of  the  vril  wand. 
How  they  teach  their  young  to  avoid  him,  though  seen  for 
the  first  time,  is  one  of  those  mysteries  which  you  may  ask 
Zee  to  explain,  for  I  cannot.*  So  long  as  I  stand  here,  the 
monster  will  not  stir  from  its  lurking-place ;  but  we  must  now 
decoy  it  forth." 

"Will  not  that  be  difficult?" 

"Not  at  all.  Seat  yourself  yonder  on  that  crag  (about  one 
hundred  yards  from  the  bank),  while  I  retire  to  a  distance.  In 
a  short  time  the  reptile  will  catch  sight  or  scent  of  you,  and, 
perceiving  that  you  are  no  vril-bearer,  will  come  forth  to  de- 
vour you.  As  soon  as  it  is  fairly  out  of  the  water,  it  becomes 
my  prey." 

•  The  reptile  in  this  instinct  does  but  resemble  our  wild  birds  and  animals,  which  will 
not  come  in  reach  of  a  man  armed  with  a  gun.  When  the  electric  wires  were  first  put  up, 
partridges  struck  against  them  in  their  flight,  and  fell  down  wounded.  Mo  younger  gen'* 
^atio "^s  of  partridges  meet  with  a  similar  accident. 


THE    COMINCJ     RACE.  'jf 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  I  am  to  be  the  decoy  to  that 
horrible  monster  which  could  engulf  me  within  its  jaws  in  a 
second!     I  beg  to  decline," 

The  child  laughed.     "Fear  nothing,"  said  he;  "only  sit  still." 

Instead  of  obeying  this  command,  I  made  a  bound,  and  was 
about  to  take  fairly  to  my  heels,  when  Tae  touched  me  lightly 
on  the  shoulder,  and  fixing  his  eyes  steadily  on  mine,  I  was 
rooted  to  the  spot.  All  power  of  volition  left  me.  Submissive 
to  the  infant's  gesture,  I  followed  him  to  the  crag  he  had  indi- 
cated, and  seated  myself  there  in  silence.  Most  readers  have 
seen  something  of  the  effects  of  electro-biology,  whether  genuine 
or  spurious.  No  professor  of  that  doubtful  craft  had  ever  been 
able  to  influence  a  thought  or  a  movement  of  mine,  but  I  was 
a  mere  machine  at  the  wil  of  this  terrible  child.  Meanwhile 
he  expanded  his  wings,  soared  aloft,  and  alighted  amidst  a  copse 
at  the  brow  of  a  hill  at  some  distance. 

I  was  alone ;  and  turning  my  eyes  with  an  indescribable  sensa- 
tion of  horror  towards  the  lake,  I  kept  them  fixed  on  its  water, 
spellbound.  It  might  be  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  to  me  it  seemed 
ages,  before  the  still  surface,  gleaming  under  the  lamplight,  be- 
gan to  be  agitated  towards  the  centre.  At  the  same  time  the 
shoals  of  fish  near  the  margin  evinced  their  sense  of  the  enemy's 
approach  by  splash  and  leap  and  bubbling  circle.  I  could  de- 
tect their  hurried  flight  hither  and  thither,  some  even  casting 
themselves  ashore.  A  long,  dark,  undulous  furrow  came  mov- 
ing along  the  waters,  nearer  and  nearer,  till  the  vast  head  of 
the  reptile  emerged — its  jaws  bristling  with  fangs,  and  its  dull 
eyes  fixing  themselves  hungrily  on  the  spot  where  I  sat  motion- 
less. And  now  its  fore-feet  were  on  the  strand — now  its  enor- 
mous breast,  scaled  on  either  side  as  in  armor,  in  the  centre 
showing  corrugated  skin  of  a  dull  venomous  yellow ;  and  now 
its  whole  length  was  on  the  land,  a  hundred  feet  or  more  from 
the  jaw  to  the  tail.  Another  stride  of  those  ghastly  feet  would 
have  brought  it  to  the  spot  where  I  sat.  There  was  but  a  mo- 
ment between  me  and  this  grim  form  of  death,  when  what 
seemed  a  flash  of  lightning  shot  through  the  air,  smote,  and, 
for  a  space  in  time  briefer  than  that  in  which  a  man  can  draw 
his  breath,  enveloped  the  monster ;  and  then,  as  the  flash  van- 
ished, there  lay  before  me  a  blackened,  charred,  smouldering 
mass,  a  something  gigantic,  but  of  which  even  the  outlines  of 
form  were  burned  away,  and  rapidly  crumbling  into  dust  and 
ashes.  I  remained  still  seated,  still  speechless,  ice-cold  with  a 
new  sensation  of  dread :   what  had  been  horror  was  now  awe. 

I  felt  the  child's  hand  on  my  head — fear  left  me — the  spell 


78  THfi    COMING    RACE. 

was  broken — I  rose  up.  "You  see  with  what  ease  the  Vril-ya 
destroy  their  enemies,"  said  Tae;  and  then,  moving  towards 
the  bank,  he  contemplated  the  smouldering  relics  of  the  mon- 
ster, and  said  quietly  "I  have  destroyed  larger  creatures,  but 
none  with  so  much  pleasure.  Yes,  it  t's  a  Krek ;  what  suffer- 
ing it  must  have  inflicted  while  it  lived!"  Then  he  took  up 
the  poor  fishes  that  had  flung  themselves  ashore  and  restored 
them  mercifully  to  their  native  element. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

As  we  walked  back  to  the  town,  Tae  took  a  new  and  cir- 
cuitous way,  in  order  to  show  me  what,  to  use  a  familiar  term, 
I  will  call  the  "Station,"  from  which  emigrants  or  travellers 
to  other  communities  commence  their  journeys.  I  had,  on  a 
former  occasion,  expressed  a  wish  to  see  their  vehicles.  These 
I  found  to  be  of  two  kinds,  one  for  land-journeys,  one  for 
aerial  voyages:  the  former  were  of  all  sizes  and  forms,  some  not 
larger  than  an  ordinary  carriage,  some  movable  houses  of  one 
story  and  containing  several  rooms,  furnished  according  to  th** 
ideas  of  comfort  or  luxury  which  are  entertained  by  the  Vril-ya. 
The  aerial  vehicles  were  of  light  substances,  not  the  least  re- 
sembling our  balloons,  but  rather  our  boats  and  pleasure- 
vessels,  with  helm  and  rudder,  with  large  wings  as  paddles,  and 
a  central  machine  worked  by  vril.  All  the  vehicles  both  for 
land  or  air  were  indeed  worked  by  that  potent  and  mysterious 
agency. 

I  saw  a  convoy  set  out  on  its  journey,  but  it  had  few  passen- 
gers, containing  chiefly  articles  of  merchandise,  and  was  bound 
to  a  neighboring  community;  for  among  all  the  tribes  of  the 
Vril-ya  there  is  considerable  commercial  interchange.  I  may 
here  observe  that  their  money  currency  does  not  consist  of  the 
precious  metals,  which  are  too  common  among  them  for  that 
purpose.  The  smaller  coins  in  ordinary  use  are  manufactured 
from  a  peculiar  fossil  shell,  the  comparatively  scarce  remnant 
of  some  very  early  deluge,  or  other  convulsion  of  nature,  by 
which  a  species  has  become  extinct.  It  is  minute,  and  flat  as 
an  oyster,  and  takes  a  jewel-like  polish.  This  coinage  circu- 
lates among  all  the  tribes  of  the  Vril-ya.  Their  larger  transac- 
tions are  carried  on  much  like  ours,  by  bills  of  exchange,  and 
thin  metallic  plates  which  answer  the  purpose  of  our  banknotes. 

Let  me  take  this  occasion  of  adding  that  the  taxation  among 
the  tribe  I  became  acquainted  with  was  very  considerable, 
compared  with  the  amount  of  population.     But  I  never  heard 


THE    COMING    RACE.  79 

that  any  one  grumbled  at  it,  for  it  was  devoted  to  purposes  of 
universal  utility,  and  indeed  necessary  to  the  civilization  of  the 
tribe.  The  cost  of  lighting  so  large  a  range  of  country,  of  pro- 
viding for  emigration,  of  maintaining  the  public  buildings  at 
which  the  various  operations  of  national  intellect  were  carried 
on,  from  the  first  education  of  an  infant  to  the  departments  to 
which  the  College  of  Sages  were  perpetually  trying  new  experi- 
ments in  mechanical  science — all  these  involved  the  necessity 
for  considerable  state  funds.  To  these  I  must  add  an  item 
that  struck  me  as  very  singular.  I  have  said  that  all  the  human 
labor  required  by  the  state  is  carried  on  by  children  up  to  the 
marriageable  age.  For  this  labor  the  state  pays,  and  at  a  rate 
immeasurably  higher  than  our  remuneration  to  labor  even  in 
the  United  States.  According  to  their  theory,  every  child, 
male  or  female,  on  attaining  the  marriageable  age,  and  there 
terminating  the  period  of  labor,  should  have  acquired  enough 
for  an  independent  competence  during  life.  As,  no  matter 
what  the  disparity  of  fortune  in  the  parents,  all  the  children 
must  equally  serve,  so  all  are  equally  paid  according  to  their 
several  ages  or  the  nature  of  their  work.  When  the  parents  or 
friends  choose  to  retain  a  child  in  their  own  service,  they  must 
pay  into  the  public  fund  in  the  same  ratio  as  the  state  pays  to 
the  children  it  employs ;  and  this  sum  is  handed  over  to  the 
child  when  the  period  of  service  expires.  This  practice  serves, 
no  doubt,  to  render  the  notion  of  social  equality  familiar  and 
agreeable ;  and  if  it  may  be  said  that  all  the  children  form  a 
democracy,  no  less  truly  it  may  be  said  that  all  the  adults  form 
an  aristocracy.  The  exquisite  politeness  and  refinement  of 
manners  among  the  Vril-ya,  the  generosity  of  their  sentiments, 
the  absolute  leisure  they  enjoy  for  following  out  their  own  pri- 
vate pursuits,  the  amenities  of  their  domestic  intercourse,  in 
which  they  seem  as  members  of  one  noble  order  that  can  have 
no  distrust  of  each  other's  word  or  deed,  all  combine  to  make 
the  Vril-ya  the  most  perfect  nobility  which  a  political  disciple  of 
Plato  or  Sidney  could  conceive  for  the  ideal  of  an  aristocratic 
republic. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

From  the  date  of  the  expedition  with  Tae  which  I  have  just 
narrated,  the  child  paid  me  frequent  visits.  He  had  taken  a 
liking  to  me,  which  I  cordially  returned.  Indeed,  as  he  was 
not  yet  twelve  years  old,  and  had  not  commenced  the  course 
of  scientific  studies  with  which  childhood  closes  in  that  country, 


So  THE    COMING     RACE. 

my  intellect  was  less  inferior  to  his  than  to  that  of  the  elder 
members  of  his  race,  especially  of  the  Gy-ei,  and  most  especial- 
ly of  the  accomplished  Zee.  The  children  of  the  Vril-ya,  hav- 
ing upon  their  minds  the  weight  of  so  many  active  duties  and 
grave  responsibilities,  are  not  generally  mirthful ;  but  Tae,  with 
all  his  wisdom,  had  much  of  the  playful  good-humor  one  often 
finds  the  characteristic  of  elderly  men  of  genius.  He  felt  that 
sort  of  pleasure  in  my  society  which  a  boy  of  a  similar  age  in 
the  upper  world  has  in  the  company  of  a  pet  dog  or  monkey. 
It  amused  him  to  try  and  teach  me  the  ways  of  his  people,  as  it 
amuses  a  nephew  of  mine  to  make  his  poodle  walk  on  his  hind 
legs  or  jump  through  a  hoop.  I  willingly  lent  myself  to  such 
experiments,  but  I  never  achieved  the  success  of  the  poodle.  I 
was  very  much  interested  at  first  in  the  attempt  to  ply  the 
wings  which  the  youngest  of  the  Vril-ya  use  as  nimbly  and  easily 
as  ours  do  their  legs  and  arms;  but  my  efforts  were  attended 
with  contusions  serious  enough  to  make  me  abandon  them  in 
despair. 

The  wings,  as  I  before  said,  are  very  large,  reaching  to  the 
knee,  and  in  repose  thrown  back  so  as  to  form  a  very  graceful 
mantle.  They  are  composed  from  the  feathers  of  a  gigantic 
bird  that  abounds  in  the  rocky  heights  of  the  country — the 
color  mostly  white,  but  sometimes  with  reddish  streaks.  They 
are  fastened  round  the  shoulders  with  light  but  strong  springs 
of  steel;  and,  when  expanded,  the  arms  slide  through  loops  for 
that  purpose,  forming,  as  it  were,  a  stout  central  membrane. 
As  the  arms  are  raised,  a  tubular  lining  beneath  the  vest  or 
tunic  becomes,  by  mechanical  contrivance,  inflated  with  air, 
increased  or  diminished  at  will  by  the  movement  of  the  arms, 
and  serving  to  buoy  the  whole  form  as  on  bladders.  The 
wings  and  the  balloon-like  apparatus  are  highly  charged  with 
vril ;  and  when  the  body  is  thus  wafted  upward,  it  seems  to 
become  singularly  lightened  of  its  weight.  I  found  it  easy 
enough  to  soar  from  the  ground ;  indeed,  when  the  wings  were 
spread  it  was  scarcely  possible  not  to  soar,  but  then  came  the 
difficulty  and  the  danger.  I  utterly  failed  in  the  power  to  use 
and  direct  the  pinions,  though  I  am  considered  among  my  own 
race  unusually  alert  and  ready  in  bodily  exercises,  and  am  a 
very  practised  swimmer.  I  could  only  make  the  most  confused 
and  blundering  efforts  at  flight.  I  was  the  servant  of  the 
wings ;  the  wings  were  not  my  servants — they  were  beyond  my 
control ;  and  when  by  a  violent  strain  of  muscle,  and,  I  must 
fairly  own,  in  that  abnormal  strength  which  is  given  by  exces- 
sive fright,  I  curbed  their  gyrations  and  brought  them  near  to 


THE    COMING     RACE.  8« 

the  body,  it  seemed  as  if  I  lost  the  sustaining  power  stored  in 
them  and  the  connecting  bladders,  as  when  air  is  let  out  of  a 
balloon,  and  found  myself  precipitated  again  to  earth ;  saved, 
indeed,  by  some  spasmodic  flutterings,  from  being  dashed  to 
l)ieces,  but  not  saved  from  the  bruises  and  the  stun  of  a  heavy 
fall.  I  would,  however,  have  persevered  in  my  attempts,  but 
for  the  advice  or  the  commands  of  the  scientific  Zee,  who  had 
benevolently  accompanied  my  flutterings,  and,  indeed,  on  the 
last  occasion,  flying  just  under  me,  received  my  form  as  it  fell 
on  her  own  expanded  wings,  and  preserved  me  from  breaking 
my  head  on  the  roof  of  the  pyramid  from  which  we  had 
ascended. 

"I  see,"  she  said,  "that  your  trials  are  in  vain,  not  from  the 
fault  of  the  wings  and  their  appurtenances,  nor  from  any  im- 
perfectness  and  malformation  of  your  own  corpuscular  system, 
but  from  irremediable,  because  organic,  defect  in  your  power 
of  volition.  Learn  that  the  connection  between  the  will  and 
the  agencies  of  that  fluid  which  has  been  subjected  to  the  con- 
trol of  the  Vril-ya  was  never  established  by  the  first  discover- 
ers, never  achieved  by  a  single  generation ;  it  has  gone  on  in- 
creasing, like  other  properties  of  race,  in  proportion  as  it  has 
been  uniformly  transmitted  from  parent  to  child,  so  that,  at 
last,  it  has  become  an  instinct;  and  an  infant  An  of  our  race 
wills  to  fly  as  intuitively  and  unconsciously  as  he  wills  to  walk. 
He  thus  plies  his  invented  or  artificial  wings  with  as  much 
safety  as  a  bird  plies  those  with  which  it  is  born.  I  did  not 
think  sufficiently  of  this  when  I  allowed  you  to  try  an  experi- 
ment which  allured  me,  for  I  longed  to  have  in  you  a  compan- 
ion. I  shall  abandon  the  experiment  now.  Your  life  is  becom- 
ing dear  to  me."  Herewith  the  Gy's  voice  and  face  softened, 
and  I  felt  more  seriously  alarmed  than  I  had  been  in  my  pre- 
vious flights. 

Now  that  I  am  on  the  subject  of  wings,  I  ought  not  to  omit 
mention  of  a  custom  among  the  Gy-ei  which  seems  to  me  very 
pretty  and  tender  in  the  sentiment  it  implies.  A  Gy  wears  wings 
habitually  while  yet  a  virgin — she  joins  the  Ana  in  their  aerial 
sports — she  adventures  alone  and  afar  into  the  wilder  regions 
of  the  sunless  world:  in  the  boldness  and  height  of  her  soar- 
ings, not  less  than  in  the  grace  of  her  movements,  she  excels 
the  opposite  sex.  But  from  the  day  of  marriage,  she  wears 
wings  no  more,  she  suspends  them  with  her  own  willing  hand 
over  the  nuptial  couch,  never  to  be  resumed  unless  the  mar- 
riage tie  be  severed  by  divorce  or  death. 

Now  when  Zee's  voice  and  eyes  thus  softened — and  at  that 


82  THE    COMING    RACE. 

softening  I  prophetically  recoiled  and  shuddered — Tae,  who 
had  accompanied  us  in  our  flights,  but  who,  child-like,  had 
been  much  more  amused  with  my  awkwardness  than  sympa- 
thizing in  my  fears  or  aware  of  my  danger,  hovered  over  us, 
poised  amidst  the  still  radiant  air,  serene  and  motionless  on  his 
outspread  wings,  and  hearing  the  endearing  words  of  the  young 
Gy,  laughed  aloud.  Said  he:  "If  the  Tish  cannot  learn  the 
use  of  wings,  you  may  still  be  be  his  companion,  Zee,  for  you 
can  suspend  your  own." 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

I  HAD  for  some  time  observed  in  my  host's  highly  informed 
and  powerfully  proportioned  daughter  that  kindly  and  protec- 
tive sentiment  which,  whether  above  the  earth  or  below  it,  an 
all-wise  Providence  has  bestowed  upon  the  feminine  division  of 
the  human  race.  But  until  very  lately  I  had  ascribed  it  to  that 
affection  for  "pets"  which  a  human  female  at  every  age  shares 
with  a  human  child.  I  now  became  painfully  aware  that  the 
feeling  with  which  Zee  deigned  to  regard  me  was  different  from 
that  which  I  had  inspired  in  Tae.  But  this  conviction  gave  me 
none  of  that  complacent  gratification  which  the  vanity  of  man 
ordinarily  conceives  from  a  flattering  appreciation  of  his  per- 
sonal merits  on  the  part  of  the  fair  sex ;  on  the  contrary,  it  in- 
spired me  with  fear.  Yet  of  all  the  Gy-ei  in  the  community, 
if  Zee  were  perhaps  the  wisest  and  the  strongest,  she  was,  by 
common  repute,  the  gentlest,  and  she  was  certainly  the  most 
popularly  beloved.  The  desire  to  aid,  to  succor,  to  protect,  to 
comfort,  to  bless,  seemed  to  pervade  her  whole  being.  Though 
the  complicated  miseries  that  originate  in  penury  and  guilt  are 
unknown  to  the  social  system  of  the  Vril-ya,  still,  no  sage  had 
yet  discovered  in  vril  an  agency  which  could  banish  sorrow 
from  life;  and  wherever  amongst  her  people  sorrow  found  its 
way,  there  Zee  followed  in  the  mission  of  comforter.  Did 
some  sister  Gy  fail  to  secure  the  love  she  sighed  for?  Zee 
sought  her  out,  and  brought  all  the  resources  of  her  lore,  and 
all  the  consolations  of  her  sympathy,  to  bear  upon  a  grief  that 
so  needs  the  solace  of  a  confidant.  In  the  rare  cases,  when 
grave  illness  seized  upon  childhood,  or  youth,  and  the  cases,  less 
rare,  when,  in  the  hardy  and  adventurous  probation  of  infants, 
some  accident  attended  with  pain  and  injury  occurred.  Zee  for- 
sook her  studies  and  her  sports,  and  became  the  healer  and  the 
nurse.  Her  favorite  flights  were  towards  the  extreme  bounda- 
ries of  the  domain  where  children  were  stationed  on   guard 


THE    COMING    RACE.  83 

against  outbreaks  of  warring  forces  in  nature,  or  the  invasions 
of  devouring  animals,  so  that  she  might  warn  them  of  any  peril 
which  her  knowledge  detected  or  foresaw,  or  be  at  hand  if  any 
harm  should  befall.  Nay,  even  in  the  exercise  of  her  scientific 
acquirements  there  was  a  concurrent  benevolence  of  purpose 
and  will.  Did  she  learn  any  novelty  in  invention  that  would 
be  useful  to  the  practitioner  of  some  art  or  craft?  She 
hastened  to  communicate  and  explain  it.  Was  some  veteran 
sage  of  the  College  perplexed  and  wearied  with  the  toil  of  an 
abstruse  study?  She  would  patiently  devote  herself  to  his  aid, 
work  out  details  for  him,  sustain  his  spirits  with  her  hopeful 
smile,  quicken  his  wit  with  her  luniinous  suggestion,  be  to  him, 
as  it  were,  his  own  good  genius  made  visible  as  the  strengthener 
and  inspirer.  The  same  tenderness  she  exhibited  to  the  infe- 
rior creatures.  I  have  often  known  her  bring  home  some  sick 
and  wounded  animal,  and  tend  and  cherish  it  as  a  mother 
would  tend  and  cherish  her  stricken  child.  Many  a  time  when 
I  sat  in  the  balcony,  or  hanging  garden,  on  which  niy  window 
opened,  I  have  watched  her  rising  in  the  air  on  her  radiant 
wings,  and  in  a  few  moments  groups  of  infants  below,  catching 
sight  of  her,  would  soar  upwards  with  joyous  sounds  of  greet- 
ing; clustering  and  sporting  around  her  so  that  she  seemed  a 
very  centre  of  innocent  delight.  When  I  have  walked  with 
her  amidst  the  rocks  and  valleys  about  the  city,  the  elk-deer 
would  scent  or  see  her  from  afar,  come  bounding  up,  eager  for 
the  caress  of  her  hand,  or  follow  her  footsteps,  till  dismissed  by 
some  musical  whisper  that  the  creature  had  learned  to  com- 
prehend. It  is  the  fashion  among  the  virgin  Gy-ei  to  wear  on 
their  foreheads  a  circlet,  or  coronet,  with  gems  resembling 
opals,  arranged  in  four  points  or  rays  like  stars.  These  are 
lustreless  in  ordinary  use,  but  if  touched  by  the  vril  wand  they 
take  a  clear,  lambent  flame,  which  illuminates,  yet  not  burns. 
This  serves  as  an  ornament  in  their  festivities,  and  as  a  lamp, 
if,  in  their  wanderings  beyond  their  artificial  lights,  they  have 
to  traverse  the  dark.  There  are  times,  when  I  have  seen  Zee's 
thoughtful  majesty  of  face  lighted  up  by  this  crowning  halo, 
that  I  could  scarcely  believe  her  to  be  a  creature  of  mortal 
birth,  and  bent  my  head  before  her  as  the  vision  of  a  being 
among  the  celestial  orders.  But  never  once  did  my  heart  feel 
for  this  lofty  type  of  the  noblest  womanhood  a  sentiment  of 
human  love.  Is  it  that,  among  the  race  I  belong  to,  man's 
pride  so  far  influences  his  passions  that  woman  loses  to  him  her 
special  charm  of  woman  if  he  feels  her  to  be  in  all  things  emi- 
nently superior  to  himself?     But  by  what  strange  infatuation 


84  THE    COMING    RACE. 

could  this  peerless  daughter  of  a  race  which,  in  the  supremacy 
of  its  powers  and  the  felicity  of  its  conditions,  ranked  all  other 
races  in  the  category  of  barbarians,  have  deigned  to  honor  me 
with  her  preference?  In  personal  qualifications,  though  I 
passed  for  good-looking  among  the  people  I  came  from,  the 
handsomest  of  my  countrymen  might  have  seemed  insignificant 
and  homely  beside  the  grand  and  serene  type  of  beauty  which 
characterized  the  aspect  of  the  Vril-ya. 

That  novelty,  the  very  difference  between  myself  and  those 
to  whom  Zee  was  accustomed,  might  serve  to  bias  her  fancy 
was  probable  enough,  and  as  the  reader  will  see  later,  such  a 
cause  might  suffice  to  account  for  the  predilection  with  which 
I  was  distinguished  by  a  young  Gy  scarcely  out  of  her  child- 
hood, and  very  inferior  in  all  respects  to  Zee.  But  whoever 
will  consider  those  tender  characteristics  which  I  have  just  as- 
cribed to  the  daughter  of  Aph-Lin,  may  readily  conceive  that 
the  main  cause  of  my  attraction  to  her  was  in  her  instinctive 
desire  to  cherish,  to  comfort,  to  protect,  and,  in  protecting,  to 
sustain  and  to  exalt.  Thus,  when  I  look  back,  I  account  for 
the  only  weakness  unworthy  of  her  lofty  nature,  which 
bowed  the  daughter  of  the  Vril-ya  to  a  woman's  affection  for 
one  so  inferior  to  herself  as  was  her  father's  guest.  But  be 
the  cause  what  it  may,  the  consciousness  that  I  had  inspired 
such  affection  thrilled  me  with  awe — a  moral  awe  of  her  very 
perfections,  of  her  mysterious  powers,  of  the  inseparable  dis- 
tinctions between  her  race  and  my  own ;  and  with  that  awe,  I 
must  confess  to  my  shame,  there  combined  the  more  material 
and  ignoble  dread  of  the  perils  to  which  her  preference  would 
expose  me. 

Could  it  be  supposed  for  a  moment  that  the  parents  and 
friends  of  this  exalted  being  could  view  without  indignation 
and  disgust  the  possibility  of  an  alliance  between  herself  and  a 
Tish?  Her  they  could  not  punish,  her  they  could  not  confine 
or  restrain.  Neither  in  domestic  nor  in  political  life  do  they 
acknowledge  any  law  of  force  among  themselves;  but  they 
could  effectually  put  an  end  to  her  infatuation  by  a  flash  of 
vril  inflicted  upon  me. 

Under  these  anxious  circumstances,  fortunately,  my  con- 
science and  sense  of  honor  were  free  from  reproach.  It  be- 
came clearly  my  duty,  if  Zee's  preference  continued  manifest, 
to  intimate  it  to  my  host,  with,  of  course,  all  the  delicacy  which 
is  ever  to  be  preserved  by  a  well-bred  man  in  confiding  to  an- 
other any  degree  of  favor  by  which  one  of  the  fair  sex  may 
condescend  to  distinguish  him.     Thus,  at  all  events,  I  should 


THE    COMING    RACE.  85 

be  freed  from  responsibility  or  suspicion  of  voluntary  partici- 
pation in  the  sentiments  of  Zee;  and  the  superior  wisdom  of 
my  host  might  probably  suggest  some  sage  extrication  from 
my  perlilous  dilemma.  In  this  resolve  I  obeyed  the  ordinary 
instinct  of  civilized  and  moral  man,  who,  erring  though  he  be, 
still  generally  prefers  the  right  course  in  those  cases  where  it  is 
obviously  against  his  inclinations,  his  interests,  and  his  safety 
to  elect  the  wrong  one. 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

As  the  reader  has  seen,  Aph-Lin  had  not  favored  my  general 
and  unrestricted  intercourse  with  his  countrymen.  Though 
relying  on  my  promise  to  abstain  from  giving  any  information 
as  to  the  world.  I  had  left,  and  still  more  on  the  promise  of 
those  to  whom  had  been  put  the  same  request,  not  to  question 
me,  which  Zee  had  extracted  from  Tae,  yet  he  did  not  feel  sure 
that,  if  I  were  allowed  to  mix  with  the  strangers  whose  curiosity 
the  sight  of  me  had  aroused,  I  could  sufficiently  guard  myself 
against  their  inquiries.  When  I  went  out,  therefore,  it  was 
never  alone;  I  was  always  accompanied  either  by  one  of  my 
host's  family,  or  my  child-friend  Tae.  Bra,  Aph-Lin's  wife,  sel- 
dom stirred  beyond  the  gardens  which  surrounded  the  house,  and 
was  fond  of  reading  the  ancient  literature,  which  contained 
something  of  romance  and  adventure  not  to  be  found  in  the 
writings  of  recent  ages,  and  presented  pictures  of  a  life  unfa- 
miliar to  her  experience  and  interesting  to  her  imagination : 
pictures,  indeed,  of  a  life  more  resembling  that  which  we  lead 
every  day  above  ground,  colored  by  our  sorrows,  sins,  and  pas- 
sions, and  much  to  her  what  the  Tales  of  the  Genii  or  the 
Arabian  Nights  are  to  us.  But  her  love  of  reading  did  not 
prevent  Bra  from  the  discharge  of  her  duties  as  mistress  of  the 
largest  household  in  the  city.  She  went  daily  the  round  of  the 
chambers,  and  saw  that  the  automata  and  other  mechanical 
contrivances  were  in  order;  that  the  numerous  children  em- 
ployed by  Aph-Lin,  whether  in  his  private  or  public  capacity, 
were  carefully  tended.  Bra  also  inspected  the  accounts  of  the 
whole  estate,  and  it  was  her  great  delight  to  assist  her  husband 
in  the  business  connected  with  his  office  as  chief  administrator 
of  the  Lighting  Department,  so  that  her  avocations  necessarily 
kept  her  much  within  doors.  The  two  sons  were  both  com- 
pleting their  education  at  the  College  of  Sages:  and  the  elder, 
who  had  a  strong  passion  for  mechanics,  and  especially  for 
works  connected  with  the  machinery  of  timepieces  and  auto- 


86  THE    COMING    RACE. 

mata,  had  decided  on  devoting  himself  to  these  pursuits,  and 
was  now  occupied  in  constructing  a  shop,  or  warehouse,  at 
which  his  inventions  could  be  exhibited  and  sold.  The 
younger  son  preferred  farming  and  rural  occupations;  and 
when  not  attending  the  college,  at  which  he  chiefly  studied  the 
theories  of  agriculture,  was  much  absorbed  by  his  practical  ap- 
plication of  that  science  to  his  father's  lands.  It  will  be  seen 
by  this  how  completely  equality  of  ranks  is  established  among 
this  people — a  shopkeeper  being  of  exactly  the  same  grade  in 
estimation  as  the  large  landed  proprietor.  Aph-Lin  was  the 
wealthiest  member  of  the  community,  and  his  eldest  son  pre- 
ferred keeping  a  shop  to  any  other  avocation,  nor  was  this 
choice  thought  to  show  any  want  of  elevated  notions  on  his 
part. 

This  young  man  had  been  much  interested  in  examining  my 
watch,  the  works  of  which  were  new  to  him,  and  was  greatly 
pleased  when  I  made  him  a  present  of  it.  Shortly  after,  he 
returned  the  gift  with  interest,  by  a  watch  of  his  own  construc- 
tion, marking  both  the  time  as  in  my  watch  and  the  time  as 
kept  among  the  Vril-ya.  I  have  that  watch  still,  and  it  has 
been  much  admired  by  many  among  the  most  eminent  watch- 
makers of  London  and  Paris.  It  is  of  gold,  with  diamond 
hands  and  figures,  and  it  plays  a  favorite  tune  among  the  Vril- 
ya  in  striking  the  hours;  it  only  requires  to  be  wound  up  once 
in  ten  months,  and  has  never  gone  wrong  since  I  had  it. 
These  young  brothers  being  thus  occupied,  my  usual  compan- 
ions in  that  family,  when  I  went  abroad,  were  my  host  or  his 
daughter.  Now,  agreeably  with  the  honorable  conclusions  I 
had  come  to,  I  began  to  excuse  myself  from  Zee's  invitations 
to  go  out  alone  with  her,  and  seized  an  occasion  when  that 
learned  Gy  was  delivering  a  lecture  at  the  College  of  Sages  to 
ask  Aph-Lin  to  show  me  his  country-seat.  As  this  was  at  some 
little  distance,  and  as  Aph-Lin  was  not  fond  of  walking,  while 
I  had  discreetly  relinquished  all  attempts  at  flying,  we  pro- 
ceeded to  our  destination  in  one  of  the  aerial  boats  belonging 
to  my  host.  A  child  of  eight  years  old,  in  his  employ,  was 
our  conductor.  My  host  and  myself  reclined  on  cushions,  and 
I  found  the  movement  very  easy  and  luxurious. 

"Aph-Lin,"  said  I,  "you  will  not,  I  trust,  be  displeased 
with  me,  if  I  ask  your  permission  to  travel  for  a  short  time, 
and  visit  other  tribes  or  communities  of  your  illustrious  race. 
I  have  also  a  strong  desire  to  see  those  nations  which  do  not 
adopt  your  institutions,  and  which  you  consider  as  savages.  It 
would  interest  me  greatly  to  notice  what  are  the  distinctions 


THE    COMING    RACE.  87 

between  them  and  the  races  whom  we  consider  civilized  in  the 
world  I  have  left." 

"It  is  utterly  impossible  that  you  should  go  hence  alone," 
said  Aph-Lin.  "Even  among  the  Vril-ya  you  would  be  ex- 
posed to  great  dangers.  Certain  peculiarities  of  formation 
and  color,  and  the  extraordinary  phenomenon  of  hirsute  bushes 
upon  your  cheeks  and  chin,  denoting  in  you  a  species  of  An 
distinct  alike  from  our  race  and  any  known  race  of  barbarians 
yet  extant,  would  attract,  of  course,  the  special  attention  of 
the  College  of  Sages  in  whatever  community  of  Vril-ya  you 
visited,  and  it  would  depend  upon  the  individual  temper  of 
some  individual  sage  whether  you  would  be  received,  as  you 
have  been  here,  hospitably,  or  whether  you  would  not  be  at 
once  dissected  for  scientific  purposes.  Know  that  when  the 
Tur  first  took  you  to  his  house,  and  while  you  were  there 
put  to  sleep  by  Tae  in  order  to  recover  from  your  previous 
pain  or  fatigue,  the  sages  summoned  by  the  Tur  were  divided 
in  opinion  whether  you  were  a  harmless  or  an  obnoxious 
animal.  During  your  unconscious  state  your  teeth  were 
examined,  and  they  clearly  showed  that  you  were  not  only 
graminivorous,  but  carnivorous.  Carnivorous  animals  of  your 
size  are  always  destroyed,  as  being  of  dangerous  and  sav- 
age nature.  Our  teeth,  as  you  have  doubtless  observed,* 
are  not  those  of  the  creatures  who  devour  flesh.  It  is,  in- 
deed, maintained  by  Zee  and  other  philosophers,  that  as, 
in  remote  ages,  the  Ana  did  prey  upon  living  beings  of  the 
brute  species,  their  tenth  must  have  been  fitted  for  that  pur- 
pose. But,  even  if  so,  they  have  been  modified  by  hereditary 
transmission,  and  suited  to  the  food  on  which  we  now  exist; 
nor  are  even  the  barbarians,  who  adopt  the  turbulent  and  fero 
cious  institutions  of  Glek-Nas,  devourers  of  flesh  like  beasts  of 

"In  the  course  of  this  dispute  it  was  proposed  to  dissect 
you;  but  Tae  begged  you  off,  and  the  Tur  being,  by  office, 
averse  to  all  novel  experiments  at  variance  with  our  custom  of 
sparing  life,  except  where  it  is  clearly  proved  to  be  for  the 
good  of  the  community  to  take  it,  sent  to  me,  whose  business 
it  is,  as  the  richest  man  of  the  state,  to  afford  hospitality  to 
strangers  from  a  distance.  It  was  at  my  option  to  decide 
whether  or  not  you  were  a  stranger  whom  I  could  safely  admit. 
Had  I  declined  to  receive  jou,  you  would  have  been  handed 
over  to  the  College  of  Sages,  and  what  might  there  have  be- 

•  1  never  had  observed  it  ;  and,  if  I   had  am   not  physiologist  enough  to  have  distia< 
f  uished  the  difierence, 


88  THE    COMING    RACE. 

fallen  you  I  do  not  like  to  conjecture  Apart  from  this  danger, 
you  might  chance  to  encounter  some  child  four  years  old,  just 
put  in  possession  of  his  vril  staff ;  and  who,  in  alarm  at  your 
strange  appearance,  and  in  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  might 
reduce  you  to  a  cinder.  Tae  himself  was  about  to  do  so  when 
he  first  saw  you,  had  his  father  not  checked  his  hand.  There- 
fore I  say  you  cannot  travel  alone,  but  with  Zee  you  would  be 
safe ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  would  accompany  you  on 
a  tour  round  the  neighboring  communities  of  Vril-ya  (to  the 
savage  states,  No!):    I  will  ask  her." 

Now,  as  my  main  object  in  proposing  to  travel  was  to  escape 
from  Zee,  I  hastily  exclaimed:  "Nay,  pray  do  not!  I  relin- 
quish my  design.  You  have  said  enough  as  to  its  dangers  to 
deter  me  from  it ;  and  I  can  scarcely  think  it  right  that  a 
young  Gy  of  the  personal  attractions  of  your  lovely  daughter 
should  travel  into  other  regions  without  a  better  protector  than 
a  Tish  of  my  insignificant  strength  and  stature." 

Aph-Lin  emitted  the  soft  sibilant  sound  which  is  the  nearest 
approach  to  laughter  that  a  full-grown  An  permits  to  himself, 
ere  he  replied :  "Pardon  my  discourteous  but  momentary  in- 
dulgence of  mirth  at  any  observation  seriously  made  by  my 
guest.  I  could  not  but  be  amused  at  the  idea  of  Zee,  who  is  so 
fond  of  protecting  others  that  children  call  her  'the  Guardi- 
an,' needing  a  protector  herself  against  any  dangers  arising 
from  the  audacious  admiration  of  males.  Know  that  our 
Gy-ei, while  unmarried,  are  accustomed  to  travel  alone  among 
other  tribes,  to  see  if  they  find  there  some  An  who  may  please 
them  more  than  the  Ana  they  find  at  home.  Zee  has  already 
made  three  such  journeys,  but  hitherto  her  heart  has  been 
untouched." 

Here  the  opportunity  which  I  sought  was  afforded  to  me; 
and  I  said,  looking  down,  and  with  faltering  voice:  "Will  you, 
my  kind  host,  promise  to  pardon  me,  if  what  I  am  about  to 
say  gives  you  offence?" 

"Say  only  the  truth,  and  I  cannot  be  offended;  or,  could  I 
be  so,  it  would  be  not  for  me,  but  for  you  to  pardon." 

"Well,  then,  assist  me  to  quit  you, and,  much  as  I  should  have 
liked  to  witness  more  of  the  wonders,  and  enjoy  more  of  the  fe- 
licity, which  belong  to  your  people,  let  me  return  to  my  own." 

"I  fear  there  are  reasons  why  I  cannot  do  that;  at  all  events, 
not  without  permission  of  the  Tur,  and  he,  probably,  would 
not  grant  it.  You  are  not  destitute  of  intelligence ;  you  ma)^ 
(though  I  do  not  think  so)  have  concealed  the  degree  of  de* 
structive  powers  possessed  by  your  people ;  you  might,  in  short, 


THE    COMING    RACE.  89 

bring  upon  us  some  danger;  and  if  the  Tur  entertains  that 
idea  it  would  clearly  be  his  duty  either  to  put  an  end  to  you, 
or  enclose  you  in  a  cage  for  the  rest  of  your  existence.  But 
why  should  you  wish  to  leave  a  state  of  society  which  you  so 
politely  allow  to  be  more  felicitous  than  your  own?" 

"Oh,  Aph-Lin!  my  answer  is  plain.  Lest  in  aught,  and 
unwittingly,  I  should  betray  your  hospitality;  lest,  in  that 
caprice  of  will  which  in  our  world  is  proverbial  among  the 
other  sex,  and  from  which  even  a  Gy  is  not  free,  your  adorable 
daughter  should  deign  to  regard  me,  though  a  Tish,  as  if  I 
were  a  civilized  An,  and — and — and — " 

"Court  you  as  her  spouse,"  put  in  Aph-Lin  gravely,  and 
without  any  visible  sign  of  surprise  or  displeasure. 

"You  have  said  it." 

"That  would  be  a  misfortune,"  resumed  my  host,  after  a 
pause,  "and  I  feel  that  you  have  acted  as  you  ought  in  warn- 
ing me.  It  is,  as  you  imply,  not  uncommon  for  an  unwedded 
Gy  to  conceive  tastes  as  to  the  object  she  covets  which  appear 
whimsical  to  others;  but  there  is  no  power  to  compel  a  young 
Gy  to  any  course  opposed  to  that  which  she  chooses  to  pur- 
sue. All  we  can  do  is  to  reason  with  her,  and  experience  tells 
us  that  the  whole  College  of  Sages  would  find  it  vain  to  reason 
with  a  Gy  in  a  matter  that  concerns  her  choice  in  love.  I 
grieve  for  you,  because  such  a  marriage  would  be  against  the 
Aglauran,  or  good  of  the  community,  for  the  children  of  such 
a  marriage  would  adulterate  the  race :  they  might  even  come 
into  the  world  with  the  teeth  of  carnivorous  animals ;  this 
could  not  be  allowed:  Zee,  as  a  Gy,  cannot  be  controlled; 
but  you,  as  a  Tish,  can  be  destroyed.  I  advise  you,  then,  to 
resist  her  addresses ;  to  tell  her  plainly  that  you  can  never 
return  her  love.  This  happens  constantly.  Many  an  An, 
however  ardently  wooed  by  one  Gy,  rejects  her,  and  puts  an 
end  to  her  persecution  by  wedding  another.  The  same  source 
is  open  to  you." 

"No;  for  I  cannot  wed  another  Gy  without  equally  injur- 
ing the  community,  and  exposing  it  to  the  chance  of  rearing 
carnivorous  children." 

"That  is  true.  All  I  can  say,  and  I  say  it  with  the  tender- 
ness due  to  a  Tish,  and  the  respect  due  to  a  guest,  is  frankly 
this — if  you  yield,  you  will  become  a  cinder.  I  must  leave  it 
to  you  to  take  the  best  way  you  can  to  defend  yourself.  Per- 
haps you  had  better  tell  Zee  that  she  is  ugly.  That  assurance 
on  the  lips  of  him  she  woos  generally  suffices  to  chill  the  most 
ardent  Gy.     Here  we  are  at  my  country-house." 


9©  THE    COMING    RACE. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

I  CONFESS  that  my  conversation  with  Aph-Lin  and  the  ex- 
treme coolness  with  which  he  stated  his  inability  to  control  the 
dangerous  caprice  of  his  daughter,  and  treated  the  idea  of  the 
reduction  into  a  cinder  to  which  her  amorous  flame  might  ex- 
pose my  too  seductive  person,  took  away  the  pleasure  I  should 
otherwise  have  had  in  the  contemplation  of  my  host's  country- 
seat,  and  the  astonishing  perfection  of  the  machinery  by  which 
his  farming  operations  were  conducted.  The  house  differed  in 
appearance  from  the  massive  and  sombre  building  which  Aph- 
Lin  inhabited  in  the  city,  and  which  seemed  akin  to  the  rocks 
out  of  which  the  city  itself  had  been  hewn  into  shape.  The 
walls  of  the  country-seat  were  composed  by  trees  placed  a  few 
feet  apart  from  each  other,  the  interstices  being  filled  in  with 
the  transparent  metallic  substance  which  serves  the  purpose  of 
glass  among  the  Ana.  These  trees  were  all  in  flower,  and  the 
effect  was  very  pleasing,  if  not  in  the  best  taste.  We  were 
received  at  the  porch  by  lifelike  automata,  who  conducted  us 
into  a  chamber,  the  like  to  which  I  never  saw  before,  but  have 
often  on  summer  days  dreamily  imagined.  It  was  a  bower — 
half-room,  half-garden.  The  walls  were  one  mass  of  climbing 
flowers.  The  open  spaces,  which  we  call  windows,  and  in 
which,  here,  the  metallic  surfaces  were  slided  back,  com- 
manded various  views ;  some,  of  the  wide  landscape  with  its 
lakes  and  rocks ;  some,  of  small  limited  expanse  answering  to 
our  conservatories,  filled  with  tiers  of  flowers.  Along  the 
sides  of  the  room  were  flower-beds,  interspersed  with  cushions 
for  repose.  In  the  centre  of  the  floor  were  a  cistern  and  a 
fountain  of  that  liquid  light  which  I  have  presumed  to  be 
naphtha.  It  was  luminous  and  of  a  roseate  hue;  it  sufficed 
without  lamps  to  light  up  the  room  with  a  subdued  radiance. 
All  around  the  fountain  was  carpeted,  with  a  soft,  deep  lichen, 
not  green  (I  have  never  seen  that  color  in  the  vegetation  of 
this  country),  but  a  quiet  brown,  on  which  the  eye  reposes 
with  the  same  sense  of  relief  as  that  with  which  in  the  upper 
world  it  reposes  on  green.  In  the  outlets  upon  flowers  (which 
I  have  compared  to  our  conservatories)  there  were  singing-  • 
birds  innumerable,  which,  while  we  remained  in  the  room, 
sang  in  those  harmonies  of  tune  to  which  they  are,  in  these 
parts,  so  wonderfully  trained.  The  roof  was  open.  The 
whole  scene  had  charms  for  every  sense — music  from  the  birds, 
fragrance  from  the  flowers,  and  varied  beauty  to  the  eye  at 


THE    COMING     RACE.  9 1 

every  aspect.  About  all  was  a  voluptuous  repose.  What  a 
place,  methought,  for  a  honeymoon,  if  a  Gy  bride  were  a  little 
less  formidably  armed  not  only  with  the  rights  of  woman,  but 
with  the  powers  of  man!  but  when  one  thinks  of  a  Gy,  so 
learned,  so  tall,  so  stately,  so  much  above  the  standard  of  the 
creature  we  call  woman  as  was  Zee,  no !  even  if  I  had  felt  no 
fear  of  being  reduced  to  a  cinder,  it  is  not  of  her  I  should  have 
dreamed  in  that  bower  so  constructed  for  dreams  of  poetic 
love. 

The  automata  reappeared,  serving  one  of  those  delicious 
liquids  which  form  the  innocent  wines  of  the  Vril-ya. 

"Truly,"  said  I,  "this  is  a  charming  residence,  and  I  can 
scarcely  conceive  why  you  do  not  settle  yourself  here  instead 
of  amid  the  gloomier  abodes  of  the  city." 

"As  responsible  to  the  community  for  the  administration  of 
light,  I  am  compelled  to  reside  chiefly  in  the  city,  and  can 
only  come  hither  for  short  intervals." 

"But  since  I  understand  from  you  that  no  honors  are  at- 
tached to  your  office,  and  it  involves  some  trouble,  why  do 
you  accept  it?" 

"Each  of  us  obeys  without  question  the  command  of  the 
Tur.  He  said,  'Be  it  requested  that  Aph-Lin  shall  be  Com- 
missioner of  Light,'  so  I  had  no  choice;  but  having  held  the 
office  now  for  a  long  time,  the  cares,  which  were  at  first  un- 
welcome, have  become,  if  not  pleasing,  at  least  endurable. 
We  are  all  formed  by  custom — even  the  difference  of  our  race 
from  the  savage  is  but  the  transmitted  cotinuance  of  custom, 
which  becomes,  though  hereditary  descent,  part  and  parcel  of 
our  nature.  You  see  there  are  Ana  who  even  reconcile  them- 
selves to  the  responsibilities  of  chief  magistrate,  but  no  one 
would  do  so  if  his  duties  had  not  been  rendered  so  light,  or 
if  there  were  any  questions  as  tocompliance  with  his  requests." 

"Not  even  if  you  thought  the  requests  unwise  or  unjust?" 

"We  do  not  allow  ourselves  to  think  so,  and  indeed,  every- 
thing goes  on  as  if  each  and  all  governed  themselves  according 
to  immemorial  custom." 

"When  the  chief  magistrate  dies  or  retires,  how  do  you  pro- 
vide for  his  successor?" 

"The  An  who  has  discharged  the  duties  of  chief  magistrate 
for  many  years  is  the  best  person  to  choose  one  by  whom  those 
duties  may  be  understood,  and  he  generally  names  his  suc- 
cessor." 

"His  son,  perhaps?" 

"Seldom  that;  for  it  is  not  an  office  any  one  desires  or 


92  THE    COMING    RACE. 

seeks,  and  a  father  naturally  hesitates  to  constrain  his  son. 
But  if  the  Tur  himself  decline  to  make  a  choice,  for  fear  it 
might  be  supposed  that  he  owed  some  grudge  to  the  person  on 
whom  his  choice  would  settle,  then  there  are  three  of  the  Col- 
lege of  Sages  who  draw  lots  among  themselves  which  shall  have 
the  power  to  elect  the  chief.  We  consider  that  the  judgment 
of  one  An  of  ordinary  capacity  is  better  than  the  judgment  of 
three  or  more,  however  wise  they  may  be ;  for  among  three 
there  would  probably  be  disputes ;  and  where  there  are  dis- 
putes, passion  clouds  judgment.  The  worst  choice  made  by 
one  who  has  no  motive  in  choosing  wrong,  is  better  than  the 
best  choice  made  by  many  who  have  many  motives  for  not 
choosing  right." 

"You  reverse  in  your  policy  the  maxims  adopted  in  my 
country." 

"Are  you  all,  in  your  country,  satisfied  with  your  gover- 
nors?" 

"All!  certainly  not;  the  governors  that  most  please  some 
are  sure  to  be  those  most  displeasing  to  others." 

"Then  our  system  is  better  than  yours." 

"For  you  it  may  be;  but  according  to  our  system  a  Tish 
could  not  be  reduced  to  a  cinder  if  a  female  compelled  him  to 
marry  her;  and  as  a  Tish  I  sigh  to  return  to  my  native  world." 

"Take  courage,  my  dear  little  guest;  Zee  can't  compel  you 
to  marry  her.  She  can  only  entice  you  to  do  so.  Don't  be 
enticed.     Come  and  look  round  my  domain." 

We  went  forth  into  a  close,  bordered  with  sheds;  for  though 
the  Ana  keep  no  stock  for  food,  there  are  some  animals  which 
they  rear  for  milking  and  others  for  shearing.  The  former 
have  no  resemblance  to  our  cows,  nor  the  latter  to  our  sheep, 
nor  do  I  believe  such  species  exist  amongst  them.  They  use 
the  milk  of  three  varieties  of  animal:  one  resembles  the  ante- 
lope, but  is  much  larger,  being  as  tall  as  a  camel;  the  other 
two  are  smaller,  and,  though  differing  somewhat  from  each 
other,  resemble  no  creature  I  ever  saw  on  earth.  They  are 
very  sleek  and  of  rounded  proportions ;  their  color  that  of  the 
dappled  deer,  with  very  mild  countenances  and  beautiful  dark 
eyes.  The  milk  of  these  three  creatures  differs  in  richness 
and  in  taste.  It  is  usually  diluted  with  water,  and  flavored  with 
the  juice  of  a  peculiar  and  perfumed  fruit,  and  in  itself  is  very 
nutritious  and  palatable.  The  animal  whose  fleece  serves  them 
for  clothing  and  many  other  purposes,  is  more  like  the  Italian 
she-goat  than  any  other  creature,  but  is  considerably  larger, 
has  no  horns,  and  is  free  from  the  displeasing  odor  of  our 


THE    COMING     RACE.  93 

goats.  Its  fleece  is  not  thick,  but  very  long  and  fine ;  it  varies 
in  color,  but  is  never  white,  more  generally  of  a  slate-like  or 
lavender  hue.  For  clothing  it  is  usually  worn  dyed  to  suit 
the  taste  of  the  wearer.  These  animals  were  exceedingly 
tame,  and  were  treated  with  extraordinary  care  and  affection 
by  the  children  (chiefly  female)  who  tended  them. 

We  went  then  through  vast  storehouses  filled  with  grains  and 
fruits.  I  may  here  observe  that  the  main  staple  of  food  among 
these  people  consists,  firstly,  of  a  kind  of  corn  much  larger  in 
ear  than  our  wheat,  and  which  by  culture  is  perpetually  being 
brought  into  new  varieties  of  flavor ;  and,  secondly,  of  a  fruit  of 
about  the  size  of  a  small  orange,  which,  when  gathered,  is 
hard  and  bitter.  It  is  stowed  away  for  many  months  in  their 
warehouses,  and  then  becomes  succulent  and  tender.  Its 
juice,  which  is  of  dark-red  color,  enters  into  most  of  their 
sauces.  They  have  many  kinds  of  fruit  of  the  nature  of  the 
olive,  from  which  delicious  oils  are  extracted.  They  have  a 
plant  somewhat  resembling  the  sugar-cane,  but  its  juices  are 
less  sweet  and  of  a  delicate  perfume.  They  have  no  bees  nor 
honey-kneading  insects,  but  they  make  much  use  of  a  sweet 
gum  that  oozes  from  a  coniferous  plant,  not  unlike  the  arauca- 
ria.  Their  soil  teems  also  with  esculent  roots  and  vegetables., 
which  it  is  the  aim  of  their  culture  to  improve  and  vary  to  the 
utmost.  And  I  never  remember  any  meal  among  this  people, 
however  it  might  be  confined  to  the  family  household,  in  which 
some  delicate  novelty  in  such  articles  of  food  was  not  intro- 
duced. In  fine,  as  I  before  observed,  their  cookery  is  exquis- 
ite, so  diversified  and  nutritious  that  one  does  not  miss  animal 
food ;  and  their  own  physical  forms  suffice  to  show  that  with 
them,  at  least,  meat  is  not  required  for  superior  production  of 
muscular  fibre.  They  have  no  grapes — the  drinks  extracted 
from  their  fruits  are  innocent  and  refreshing.  Their  staple 
beverage,  however,  is  water,  in  the  choice  of  which  they  are 
very  fastidious,  distinguishing  at  once  the  slightest  impurity. 

"My  younger  son  takes  great  pleasure  in  augmenting  our 
produce,"  said  Aph-Lin  as  we  passed  through  the  storehouses, 
"and  therefore  will  inherit  these  lands,  which  constitute  the 
chief  part  of  my  wealth.  To  my  elder  son  such  inheritance 
would  be  a  great  trouble  and  affliction." 

"Are  there  many  sons  among  you  who  think  the  inheritance 
of  vast  wealth  would  be  a  great  trouble  and  affliction?" 

"Certainly;  there  are  indeed  very  few  of  the  Vril-ya  who  do 
not  consider  that  a  fortune  much  above  the  average  is  a  heavy 
burden.     We  are  rather  a  lazy  people  after  the  age  of  child- 


94  THE    COMING     RACE. 

hood,  and  do  not  like  undergoing  more  cares  than  we  can 
help,  and  great  wealth  does  give  its  owner  many  cares.  For 
instance,  it  marks  us  out  for  public  offices,  which  none  of 
us  like  and  none  of  us  can  refuse.  It  necessitates  our  taking 
a  continued  interest  in  the  affairs  of  any  of  our  poorer  country- 
men, so  that  we  may  anticipate  their  wants  and  see  that  none 
fall  into  poverty.  There  is  an  old  proverb  amongst  us  which 
says,  'The  poor  man's  need  is  the  rich  man's  shame — '  " 

"Pardon  me,  if  I  interrupt  you  for  a  moment.  You  then 
allow  that  some,  even  of  the  Vril-ya,  know  want,  and  need 
relief?" 

"If  by  want  you  mean  the  destitution  that  prevails  in  a 
Koom-Posh,  that  is  impossible  with  us,  unless  an  An  has,  by 
some  extraordinary  process,  got  rid  of  all  his  means,  cannot  or 
will  not  emigrate,  and  has  either  tired  out  the  affectionate  aid 
of  his  relations  or  personal  friends,  or  refuses  to  accept  it." 

"Well,  then,  does  he  not  supply  the  place  of  an  infant  or 
automaton,  and  become  a  laborer — a  servant?" 

"No;  then  we  regard  him  as  an  unfortunate  person  of  un- 
sound reason,  and  place  him,  at  the  expense  of  the  State,  in  a 
public  building,  where  every  comfort  and  every  luxury  that 
can  mitigate  his  affliction  are  lavished  upon  him.  But  an  An 
does  not  like  to  be  considered  out  of  his  mind,  and  therefore 
such  cases  occur  so  seldom  that  the  public  building  I  speak  of 
is  now  a  deserted  ruin,  and  the  last  inmate  of  it  was  an  An 
whom  I  recollect  to  have  seen  in  my  childhood.  He  did  not 
seem  conscious  of  loss  of  reason,  and  wrote  glaubs  (poetry). 
When  I  spoke  of  wants,  I  meant  such  wants  as  an  An  with  de- 
sires larger  than  his  means  sometimes  entertains — for  expensive 
singing-birds,  or  bigger  houses,  or  country-gardens;  and  the 
obvious  way  to  satisfy  such  wants  is  to  buy  of  him  something 
that  he  sells.  Hence  Ana  like  myself,  who  are  very  rich,  are 
obliged  to  buy  a  great  many  things  they  do  not  require,  and 
live  on  a  very  large  scale  where  they  might  prefer  to  live  on  a 
small  one.  For  instance,  the  great  size  of  my  house  in  the 
town  is  a  source  of  much  trouble  to  my  wife,  and  even  to 
myself;  but  I  am  compelled  to  have  it  thus  incommodiously 
large,  because,  as  the  richest  An  of  the  community,  I  am  ap- 
pointed to  entertain  the  strangers  from  the  other  communities 
when  they  visit  us,  which  they  do  in  great  crowds  twice  a  year, 
when  certain  periodical  entertainments  are  held,  and  when  rela- 
tions scattered  throughout  all  the  realms  of  the  Vril-ya  joyfully 
reunite  for  a  time.  This  hospitality,  on  a  scale  so  extensive,  is 
not  to  my  taste,  and  therefore  I  should  have  been  happier  had 


THE    COMING    RACE.  95 

I  been  less  rich.  But  we  must  all  bear  the  lot  assigned  to  us 
in  this  short  passage  through  time  that  we  call  life.  After  all, 
what  are  a  hundred  years,  more  or  less,  to  the  ages  through 
which  we  must  pass  hereafter?  Luckily,  I  have  one  son  who 
likes  great  wealth.  It  is  a  rare  exception  to  the  general  rule, 
and  I  own  I  cannot  myself  understand  it." 

After  this  conversation  I  sought  to  return  to  the  subject 
which  continued  to  weigh  on  my  heart,  viz.,  the  chances  of 
escape  from  Zee,  But  my  host  politely  declined  to  renew  that 
topic,  and  summoned  our  air-boat.  On  our  way  back  we  were 
met  by  Zee,  who,  having  found  us  gone,  on  her  return  from 
the  College  of  Sages,  had  unfurled  her  wings  and  flown  in 
search  of  us. 

Her  grand,  but  to  me  unalluring,  countenance  brightened  as 
she  beheld  me,  and,  poising  herself  beside  the  boat  on  her 
large  outspread  plumes,  she  said  reproachfully  to  Aph-Lin: 
"Oh,  father^  was  it  right  in  you  to  hazard  the  life  of  your 
guest  in  a  vehicle  to  which  he  is  so  unaccustomed?  He  might, 
by  an  incautious  movement,  fall  over  the  side;  and,  alas!  he 
is  not  like  us,  he  has  no  wings.  It  were  death  to  him  to  fall. 
Dear  one!"  (she  added,  accosting  my  shrinking  self  in  a  softer 
voice),  "have  you  no  thought  of  me,  th9,t  you  should  thus  haz- 
ard a  life  which  has  become  almost  a  part  of  mine?  Never 
again  be  thus  rash,  unless  I  am  thy  companion.  What  terror 
thou  hast  stricken  into  me!" 

I  glanced  furtively  at  Aph-Lin,  expecting,  at  least,  that  he 
would  indignantly  reprove  his  daughter  for  expressions  of  anxi- 
ety and  affection,  which,  under  all  the  circumstances,  would, 
in  the  world  above  ground,  be  considered  immodest  in  the  lips 
of  a  young  female,  addressed  to  a  male  not  affianced  to  her, 
even  if  of  the  same  rank  as  herself. 

But  so  confirmed  are  the  rights  of  females  in  that  region,  and 
so  absolutely  foremost  amongst  those  rights  do  females  claim 
the  privilege  of  courtship,  that  Aph-Lin  would  no  more  have 
thought  of  reproving  his  virgin  daughter,  than  he  would  have 
thought  of  disobeying  the  Tur.  In  that  country,  custom,  as 
he  implied,  is  all  and  all. 

He  answered  mildly:  "Zee,  the  Tish  was  in  no  danger,  and 
it  is  my  belief  that  he  can  take  very  good  care  of  himself." 

"I  would  rather  that  he  let  me  charge  myself  with  his  care. 
Oh,  heart  of  my  heart,  it  was  in  the  thought  of  thy  danger  that 
I  first  felt  how  much  I  loved  thee ! ' ' 

Never  did  man  feel  in  so  false  a  position  as  I  did.  These 
words  were  spoken   loud   in   the  hearing  of  Zee's  father — in 


$6  THE    COMING    RACE. 

the  hearing  of  the  cliild  who  steered.  I  bhished  with  shame 
for  them,  and  for  her,  and  could  not  help  replying,  angrily: 
"Zee,  either  you  mock  me,  which,  as  your  father's  guest,  mis- 
becomes you,  or  the  words  you  utter  are  improper  for  a  maiden 
Gy  to  address  even  to  an  An  of  her  own  race,  if  he  has  not 
wooed  her  with  the  consent  of  her  parents.  How  much  more 
improper  to  address  them  to  a  Tish,  who  has  never  presumed 
to  solicit  your  affections,  and  who  can  never  regard  you  with 
other  sentiments  than  those  of  reverence  and  awe!" 

Aph-Lin  made  me  a  covert  sign  of  approbation,  but  said 
nothing. 

"Be  not  so  cruel!"  exclaimed  Zee,  still  in  sonorous  accents, 
"Can  love  command  itself  where  it  is  truly  felt?  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  a  maiden  Gy  will  conceal  a  sentiment  that  it  elevates 
her  to  feel?     What  a  country  you  must  have  come  from!" 

Here  Aph-Lin  gently  interposed,  saying:  "Among  the 
Tish-a  the  rights  of  your  sex  do  not  appear  to  be  established, 
and  at  all  events  my  guest  may  converse  with  you  more  freely 
if  unchecked  by  the  presence  of  others." 

To  this  remark  Zee  made  no  reply,  but,  darting  on  me  a 
tender,  reproachful  glance,  agitated  her  wings  and  fled  home- 
ward. 

"I  had  counted,  at  least,  on  some  aid  from  my  host,"  said  I 
bitterly,  "in  the  perils  to  which  his  own  daughter  exposes  me." 

"I  gave  you  the  best  aid  I  could.  To  contradict  a  Gy  in 
her  love  affairs  is  to  confirm  her  purpose.  She  allows  no 
counsel  to  come  between  her  and  her  affections." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

On  alighting  from  the  air-boat,  a  child  accosted  Aph-Lin  in 
the  hall  with  a  request  that  he  v/ould  be  present  at  the  funeral 
obsequies  of  a  relation  who  had  recently  departed  from  that 
nether  world. 

Now,  I  had  never  seen  a  burial-place  or  cemetery  amongst 
this  people  and,  glad  to  seize  even  so  melancholy  an  occasion 
to  defer  an  encounter  with  Zee,  I  asked  Aph-Lin  if  I  might  be 
permitted  to  witness  with  him  the  interment  of  his  relation ; 
unless,  indeed,  it  were  regarded  as  one  of  those  sacred  cere- 
monies to  which  a  stranger  to  their  race  might  not  be  adrnitted, 

"The  departure  of  an  An  to  a  happier  world,"  answered  my 
host,  "when  as  in  the  case  of  my  kinsman,  he  has  lived  so  long 
in  this  as  to  have  lost  pleasure  in  it,  is  rather  a  cheerful  though 


THE    COMING    RACE.  97 

quiet  festival  than  a  sacred  ceremony,  and  you  may  accompany 
rne  if  you  will." 

Preceded  by  the  child-messenger,  we  walked  up  the  main 
street  to  a  house  at  some  little  distance,  and,  entering  the  hall, 
were  conducted  to  a  room  on  the  ground-floor,  where  we  found 
several  persons  assembled  round  a  couch  on  which  was  laid  the 
deceased.  It  was  an  old  man,  who  had,  as  I  was  told,  lived  be- 
yond his  130th  year.  To  judge  by  the  calm  smile  on  his 
countenance,  he  had  passed  away  without  suffering.  One  of  the 
sons,  who  was  now  the  head  of  the  family,  and  who  seemed  in 
vigorous  middle  life,  though  he  was  considerably  more  than 
seventy,  stepped  forward  with  a  cheerful  face  and  told  Aph- 
Lin  "that  the  day  before  he  died  his  father  had  seen  in  a 
dream  his  departed  Gy,  and  was  eager  to  be  reunited  to  her, 
and  restored  to  youth  beneath  the  nearer  smile  of  the  All- 
Good." 

While  these  two  were  talking,  my  attention  was  drawn  to  a 
dark  metallic  substance  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room.  It  was 
about  twenty  feet  in  length,  narrow  in  proportion,  and  all 
closed  round,  save,  near  the  roof,  there  were  small  round  holes 
through  which  might  be  seen  a  red  light.  From  the  interior 
emanated  a  rich  and  sweet  perfume;  and  while  I  was  conjectur- 
ing what  purpose  this  machine  was  to  serve,  all  the  timepieces 
in  the  town  struck  the  hour  with  their  solemn  musical  chime; 
and  as  that  sound  ceased,  music  of  a  more  joyous  character, 
but  still  of  a  joy  subdued  and  tranquil,  rang  throughout  the 
chamber,  and  from  the  walls  beyond,  in  a  choral  peal.  Sym- 
phonious  with  the  melody  those  present  lifted  their  voice  in 
chant.  The  words  of  this  hymn  were  simple.  They  expressed 
no  regret,  no  farewell,  but  rather  a  greeting  to  the  ne\v 
world  whither  the  deceased  had  preceded  the  living.  In- 
deed, in  their  language,  the  funeral  hymn  is  called  the  'Birth 
Song.'  Then  the  corpse,  covered  by  a  long  cerement,  was 
tenderly  lifted  up  by  six  of  the  nearest  kinsfolk  and  iDorne 
towards  the  dark  thing  I  have  described.  I  pressed  forward  to 
see  what  happened.  A  sliding  door  or  panel  at  one  end  was 
lifted  up — the  body  deposited  within,  on  a  shelf — the  door  re- 
closed — a  spring  at  the  side  touched — a  sudden  whisking,  sigh- 
ing sound  heard  from  within ;  and  lo!  at  the  other  end  of  the 
machine  the  lid  fell  down,  and  a  small  handful  of  smouldering 
dust  dropped  into  o.  patera  placed  to  receive  it.  The  son  took 
up  ihQ  patera  and  said  (in  what  I  understood  afterwards  was  the 
usual  form  of  words):  "Behold  how  great  is  the  Maker!  To 
this  little  dust  He  gave  form  and  life  and  soul.     It  needs  not 


98  THE    COMING    RACE. 

this  little  dust  for  Him  to  renew  form  and  life  and  soul  to  the 
beloved  one  we  shall  soon  see  again." 

Each  present  bowed  his  head  and  pressed  his  hand  to  his 
heart.  Then  a  young  female  child  opened  a  small  door  within 
the  wall,  and  I  perceived,  in  the  recess,  shelves  on  which  were 
placed  mdiny  patem  like  that  which  the  son  held,  save  that  they 
all  had  covers.  With  such  a  cover  a  Gy  now  approached  the 
son,  and  placed  it  over  the  cup,  on  which  it  closed  with  a  spring. 
On  the  lid  were  engraven  the  name  of  the  deceased,  and  these 
words:  "Lent  to  us"  (here  the  date  of  birth),  "Recalled  from 
us"  (here  the  date  of  death). 

The  closed  door  shut  with  a  musical  sound,  and  all  was  over. 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

"And  this,"  said  I,  with  my  mind  full  of  what  I  had  wit- 
nessed— "this,  I  presume,  is  your  usual  form  of  burial?" 

"Our  invariable  form,"  answered  Aph-Lin.  "What  is  it 
amongst  your  people?" 

"We  inter  the  body  whole  within  the  earth." 

'  'What !  to  degrade  the  form  you  have  loved  and  honored, 
the  wife  on  whose  breast  you  have  slept,  to  the  loathsomeness 
of  corruption?" 

"But  if  the  soul  lives  again,  can  it  matter  whether  the  body 
waste  within  the  earth  or  is  reduced  by  that  awful  mechanism, 
worked,  no  doubt,  by  the  agency  of  vril,  into  a  pinch  of  dust?" 

"You  answer  well,"  said  my  host,  "and  there  is  no  arguing 
on  a  matter  of  feeling;  but  to  me  your  custom  is  horrible  and 
repulsive,  and  would  serve  to  invest  death  with  gloomy  and 
hideous  associations.  It  is  something,  too,  to  my  mind  to  be 
able  to  preserve  the  token  of  what  has  been  our  kinsman  or 
friend  within  the  abode  in  which  we  live.  We  thus  feel  more 
sensibly  that  he  still  lives,  though  not  visibly  so  to  us.  But 
our  sentiments  in  this,  as  in  all  things,  are  created  by  custom. 
Custom  is  not  to  be  changed  by  a  wise  An,  any  more  than  it  is 
changed  by  a  wise  Community,  without  the  gravest  deliberation, 
followed  by  the  most  earnest  conviction.  It  is  only  thus  that 
change  ceases  to  be  changeability,  and  once  made  is  made  for 
good. ' ' 

When  we  regained  the  house,  Aph-Lin  summoned  some  of 
the  children  in  his  service,  and  sent  them  round  to  several  of 
his  friends,  requesting  their  attendance  that  day  during  the 
Easy  Hours,  to  a  festival  in  honor  of  his  kinsman's  recall  to 
the  All-Good.     This  was  the  largest  and  gayest  assembly  I  ever 


THE    COMING     RACE.  99 

witnessed  during  my  stay  among  the  Ana,  and  was  prolonged 
far  into  the  Silent  Hours. 

The  banquet  was  spread  in  a  vast  chamber  reserved  especial- 
ly for  grand  occasions.  This  differed  from  our  entertainments 
and  was  not  without  a  certain  resemblance  to  those  we  read  of 
in  the  luxurious  age  of  the  Roman  Empire.  There  was  not 
one  great  table  set  out,  but  numerous  small  tables,  each  appro- 
priated to  eight  guests.  It  is  considered  that  beyond  that  num- 
ber conversation  languishes  and  friendship  cools.  The  Ana 
never  laugh  loud,  as  I  have  before  observed,  but  the  cheerful 
ring  of  their  voices  at  the  various  tables  betokened  gayety  of 
intercourse.  As  they  have  no  stimulant  drinks,  and  are  temper- 
ate in  food,  though  so  choice  and  dainty,  the  banquet  itself  did 
not  last  long.  The  tables  sank  through  the  floor,  and  then 
came  musical  entertainments  for  those  who  liked  them.  Many, 
however,  wandered  away;  some  of  the  younger  ascended  on 
their  wings,  for  the  hall  was  roofless,  forming  aerial  dances ; 
others  strolled  through  the  various  apartments,  examining  the 
curiosities  with  which  they  were  stored,  or  formed  themselves 
into  groups  for  various  games,  the  favorite  of  which  is  a  compli- 
cated kind  of  chess  played  by  eight  persons.  I  mixed  with  the 
crowd,  but  was  prevented  joining  in  their  conversation  by  the 
constant  companionship  of  one  or  the  other  of  my  host's  sons, 
appointed  to  keep  me  from  obtrusive  questionings.  The 
guests,  however,  noticed  me  but  slightly ;  they  had  grown  ac- 
customed to  my  appearance,  seeing  me  so  often  in  the  streets, 
and  I  had  ceased  to  excite  much  cuiiosity. 

To  my  great  delight  Zee  avoided  me,  and  evidently  sought 
to  excite  my  jealousy  by  marked  attentions  to  a  very  handsome 
young  An,  who  (though,  as  is  the  modest  custom  of  the  males 
when  addressed  by  females,  he  answered  with  downcast  eyes 
and  blushing  cheeks,  and  was  demure  and  shy  as  young  ladies 
new  to  the  world  are  in  most  civilized  countries,  except  England 
and  America)  was  evidently  much  charmed  by  the  tall  Gy,  and 
ready  to  falter  a  bashful  "Yes"  if  she  had  actually  proposed. 
Fervently  hoping  that  she  would,  and  more  and  more  averse 
to  the  idea  of  reduction  to  a  cinder  after  I  had  seen  the  rapid- 
ity with  which  a  human  body  can  be  hurried  into  a  pinch  of 
dust,  I  amused  myself  by  watching  the  manners  of  the  other 
young  people.  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  observing  that  Zee 
was  no  singular  asserter  of  a  female's  most  valued  rights. 
Wherever  I  turned  my  eyes,  or  lent  my  ears,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  the  Gy  was  the  wooing  party,  and  the  An  the  coy  and 
reluctant  one.     The  pretty  innocent  airs  which  an  An  gave 


lOO  THE    COMING    RACE. 

himself  on  being  thus  courted,  the  dexterity  with  which  he. 
evaded  direct  answer  to  professions  of  attachment,  or  turned 
into  jest  the  flattering  compliments  addressed  to  him,  would 
have  done  honor  to  the  most  accomplished  coquette.  Both  my 
male  chaperons  were  subjected  greatly  to  these  seductive 
influences,  and  both  acquitted  themselves  with  wonderful  honor 
to  their  tact  and  self-control. 

I  said  to  the  elder  son,  who  preferred  mechanical  employ- 
ments to  the  management  of  a  great  property,  and  who  was  of 
an  eminently  philosophical  temperament:  "I  find  it  difficult  to 
conceive  how  at  your  age,  and  with  all  the  intoxicating  effects 
on  the  senses  of  music  and  lights  and  perfumes,  you  can  be  so 
cold  to  that  impassioned  Gy  who  has  just  left  you  with  tears  in 
her  eyes  at  your  cruelty." 

The  young  An  replied  with  a  sigh:  "Gentle  Tish,  the  greatest 
misfortune  in  life  is  to  marry  one  Gy  if  you  are  in  love  with 
another. ' ' 

"Oh!  you  are  in  love  with  another?" 

"Alas!  yes." 

"And  she  does  not  return  your  love?" 

"I  don't  know.  Sometimes  a  look,  a  tone,  *nakes  me  hope 
so;  but  she  has  never  plainly  told  me  that  she  loves  me." 

"Have  you  not  whispered  in  her  own  ear  that  you  love  her?" 

"Fie!  what  are  you  thinking  of?  What  world  do  you  come 
from?  Could  I  so  betray  the  dignity  of  my  sex?  Could  I  be 
so  un-Anly,  so  lost  to  shame,  as  to  own  love  to  a  Gy  who  has 
not  first  owned  hers  to  me?" 

"Pardon:  I  was  not  quite  aware  that  you  pushed  the  modesty 
of  your  sex  so  far.  But  does  no  An  ever  say  to  a  Gy,  'I  love 
you,*  till  she  says  it  first  to  him?" 

"I  can't  say  that  no  An  has  ever  done  so;  but  if  he  ever 
does,  he  is  disgraced  in  the  eyes  of  the  Ana,  and  secretly  de- 
spised by  the  Gy-ei.  No  Gy,  well  brought  up,  would  listen  to 
him ;  she  would  consider  that  he  audaciously  infringed  on  the 
rights  of  her  sex,  while  outraging  the  modesty  which  dignifies 
his  own.  It  is  very  provoking,"  continued  the  An;  "for  she 
whom  I  love  has  certainly  courted  no  one  else,  and  I  cannot 
but  think  she  likes  me.  Sometimes  I  suspect  that  she  does  not 
court  me  because  she  fears  I  would  ask  some  unreasonable 
settlement  as  to  the  surrender  of  her  rights.  But  if  so,  she  can- 
not really  love  me;  for  where  a  Gy  really  loves,  she  foregoes  all 
rights." 

"Is  this  young  Gy  present." 

"Oh  yes.     She  sits  yonder  talking  to  my  mother," 


THE    COMING    RACE.  lOI 

I  looked  in  the  direction  to  whicli  my  eyes  were  thus  guided, 
and  saw  a  Gy  dressed  in  robes  of  bright  red,  which  among  this 
people  is  a  sign  that  a  Gy  as  yet  prefers  a  single  state.  She 
wears  gray,  a  neutral  tint,  to  indicate  that  she  is  looking  about 
for  a  spouse;  dark  purple  if  she  wishes  to  intimate  that  she  has 
made  a  choice;  purple  and  orange  when  she  is  betrothed  or 
married;  light  blue  when  she  is  divorced  or  a  widow  and  would 
marry  again.     Light  blue  is  of  course  seldom  seen. 

Among  a  people  where  all  are  of  so  high  a  type  of  beauty,  it 
is  difificult  to  single  out  one  as  peculiarly  handsome.  My  young 
friend's  choice  seemed  to  me  to  possess  the  average  of  good 
looks ;  but  there  was  an  expression  in  her  face  that  pleased  me 
more  than  did  the  faces  of  the  young  Gy-ei  generally,  because 
it  looked  less  bold — less  conscious  of  female  rights.  I  observed 
that,  while  she  talked  to  Bra  she  glanced,  from  time  to  time, 
sidelong  at  my  young  friend. 

"Courage,"  said  I;  "that  young  Gy  loves  you." 

"Ay,  but  if  she  will  not  say  so,  how  am  I  the  better  for  her 
love?" 

"Your  mother  is  aware  of  your  attachment?" 

"  Perhaps  so.  I  never  owned  it  to  her.  It  would  be  un-Anly 
to  confide  such  weakness  to  a  mother.  I  have  told  my  father ; 
he  may  have  told  it  again  to  his  wife." 

"Will  you  permit  me  to  quit  you  for  a  moment,  and  glide 
behind  your  mother  and  your  beloved?  I  am  sure  they  are 
talking  about  you.  Do  not  hesitate.  I  promise  that  I  will  not 
allow  myself  to  be  questioned  till  I  rejoin  you." 

The  young  An  pressed  his  hand  on  his  heart,  touched  me 
lightly  on  the  head,  and  allowed  me  to  quit  his  side.  I  stole 
unobserved  behind  his  mother  and  his  beloved.  I  overheard 
their  talk. 

Bra  was  speaking;  said  she:  "There  can  be  no  doubt  of 
this:  either  my  son,  who  is  of  marriageable  age,  will  be  decoyed 
into  marriage  with  one  of  his  many  suitors,  or  he  will  join  those 
who  emigrate  to  a  distance,  and  we  shall  see  him  no  more.  If 
you  really  care  for  him,  my  dear  Lo,  you  should  propose." 

"I  do  care  for  him.  Bra;  but  I  doubt  if  I  could  really  ever 
win  his  affections.  He  is  fond  of  his  inventions  and  timepieces ; 
and  I  am  not  like  Zee,  but  so  dull  that  I  fear  I  could  not  enter 
into  his  favorite  pursuits,  and  then  he  would  get  tired  of  me, 
and  at  the  end  of  three  years  divorce  me,  and  I  could  never 
marry  another — never." 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  know  about  timepieces  to  know  how 
to  be  so  necessary  to  the  happiness  of  an  An  who  cares  for 


102  THE    COMING     RACE. 

timepieces,  that  he  would  rather  give  up  the  timepieces  than 
divorce  his  Gy.  You  see,  my  dear  Lo,"  continued  Bra,  "that 
precisely  because  we  are  the  stronger  sex  we  rule  the  other, 
provided  we  never  show  our  strength.  If  you  were  superior  to 
my  son  in  making  timepieces  and  automata  you  should,  as  his 
wife,  always  let  him  suppose  you  thought  him  superior  in  that 
art  to  yourself.  The  An  tacitly  allows  the  pre-eminence  of  the 
Gy  in  all  except  his  own  special  pursuit.  But  if  she  either  ex- 
cels him  in  that,  or  affects  not  to  admire  him  for  his  proficiency 
in  it,  he  will  not  love  her  very  long;  perhaps  he  may  even  di- 
vorce her.  But  where  a  Gy  really  loves,  she  soon  learns  to 
love  all  that  the  An  does." 

The  young  Gy  made  no  answer  to  this  address.  She  looked 
down  musingly,  then  a  smile  crept  over  her  lips,  and  she  rose, 
still  silent,  and  went  through  the  crowd  till  she  paused  by  the 
young  An  who  loved  her.  I  followed  her  steps,  but  discreetly 
stood  at  a  little  distance  while  I  watched  them.  Somewhat  to 
my  surprise,  till  I  recollected  the  coy  tactics  among  the  Ana, 
the  lover  seemed  to  receive  her  advances  with  an  air  of  indiffer- 
ence. He  even  moved  away,  but  she  pursued  his  steps,  and,  a 
little  time  after,  both  spread  their  wings  and  vanished  amid  the 
luminous  space  above. 

Just  then  I  was  accosted  by  the  chief  magistrate,  who  mingled 
with  the  crowd  distinguished  by  no  signs  of  deference  or  hom- 
age. It  so  happened  that  I  had  not  seen  this  great  dignitary 
since  the  day  I  had  entered  his  dominions,  and  recalling  Aph- 
Lin's  words  as  to  his  terrible  doubt  whether  or  not  I  should  be 
dissected,  a  shudder  crept  over  me  at  the  sight  of  his  tranquil 
countenance. 

"I  hear  much  of  you,  stranger,  from  my  son  Tae,"  said  the 
Tur,  laying  his  hand  politely  on  my  bended  head.  "He  is 
very  fond  of  your  society,  and  I  trust  you  are  not  displeased 
with  the  customs  of  our  people." 

I  muttered  some  unintelligible  answer,  which  I  intended 
to  be  an  assurance  of  my  gratitude  for  the  kindness  I  had 
received  from  the  Tur,  and  my  admiration  of  his  country- 
men, but  the  dissecting-knife  gleamed  before  my  mind's 
eye  and  choked  my  utterance.  A  softer  voice  said:  "My 
brother's  friend  must  be  dear  to  me."  And  looking  up  I  saw 
a  young  Gy,  who  might  be  sixteen  years  old,  standing  beside 
the  magistrate  and  gazing  at  me  with  a  very  benignant  counte- 
nance. She  had  not  come  to  her  full  growth,  and  was  scarcely 
taller  than  myself  (viz.,  about  5  feet  10  inches),  and,  thanks  to 
that  comparatively  diminutive  stature,  I  thought  her  the  loveliest 


tHE    COMIMG    RACE.  tdj 

Gy  I  had  hitherto  seen.  I  suppose  something  in  my  eyes  re- 
vealed that  impression,  for  her  countenance  grew  yet  more 
benignant. 

"Tae  tells  me,"  she  said,  "that  you  have  not  yet  learned  to 
accustom  yourself  to  wings.  That  grieves  me,  for  I  should 
have  liked  to  fly  with  you." 

"Alas!"  I  replied,  "I  can  never  hope  to  enjoy  that  happi- 
ness. I  am  assured  by  Zee  that  the  safe  use  of  wings  is  a 
hereditary  gift,  and  it  would  take  generations  before  one  of  my 
race  could  poise  himself  in  the  air  like  a  bird." 

"Let  not  that  thought  vex  you  too  much,"  replied  this  amia- 
ble Princess,  "for,  after  all,  there  must  come  a  day  when  Zee 
and  myself  must  resign  our  wings  forever.  Perhaps  when  that 
day  comes,  we  might  be  glad  if  the  An  we  chose  was  also  with- 
out wings." 

The  Tur  had  left  us,  and  was  lost  amongst  the  crowd.  I 
began  to  feel  at  ease  with  Tae's  charming  sister,  and  rather 
startled  her  by  the  boldness  of  my  compliment  in  replying  "that 
no  An  she  could  choose  would  ever  use  his  wings  to  fly  away 
from  her."  It  is  so  against  custom  for  an  An  to  say  such  civil 
things  to  a  Gy  till  she  has  declared  her  passion  for  him,  and  been 
accepted  as  his  betrothed,  that  the  young  maiden  stood  quite 
dumbfounded  for  a  few  moments.  Nevertheless  she  did  not 
seem  displeased.  At  last  recovering  herself,  she  invited  me  to 
accompany  her  into  one  of  the  less  crowded  rooms  and  listen  to 
the  songs  of  the  birds.  I  followed  her  steps  as  she  glided  before 
me,  and  she  led  me  into  a  chamber  almost  deserted.  A  foun- 
tain of  naphtha  was  playing  in  the  centre  of  the  room  ;  round  it 
were  ranged  soft  divans,  and  the  walls  of  the  room  were  open 
on  one  side  to  an  aviary  in  which  the  birds  were  chanting 
their  artful  chorus.  The  Gy  seated  herself  on  one  of  the  di- 
vans, and  I  placed  myself  at  her  side.  "Tae  tells  me,"  she 
said,  "that  Aph-Lin  has  made  it  the  law  *  of  his  house  that  you 
are  not  to  be  questioned  as  to  the  country  you  come  from  or 
the  reason  why  you  visit  us.     Is  it  so?" 

"It  is." 

"May  I,  at  least,  without  sinning  against  that  law,  ask  at 
least  if  the  Gy-ei  in  your  country  are  of  the  same  pale  color  as 
yourself,  and  no  taller.-'" 

"I  do  not  think,  O  beautiful  Gy,  that  I  infringe  the  law  of 

*  Literally  "has  said.  In  this  house  be  it  requested."  Words  synonymous  with  law,  as 
implying  forcible  obligation,  are  avoided  by  this  singular  people.  Even  had  it  been  de- 
creed by  the  Tur  that  his  College  of  Sages  should  dissect  me,  the  decree  would  have  ran 
blandly  thus  :  "  Be  it  requested  that,  for  the  good  of  the  community,  the  caraivorotis  Tish 
Vc  requested  to  submit  himself  to  dissection. 


i64  THE    COMING    RACfi. 

Aph-Lin,  which  is  more  binding  on  myself  than  any  one,  if  I 
answer  questions  so  innocent.  The  Gy-ei  in  my  country  are 
much  fairer  of  hue  than  I  am,  and  their  average  height  is  at 
least  a  head  shorter  than  mine." 

"They  cannot  then  be  so  strong  as  the  Ana  amongst  you? 
But  I  suppose  their  superior  vril  force  makes  up  for  such  ex- 
traordinary disadvantage  of  size?" 

"They  do  not  possess  the  vril  force  as  you  know  it.  But 
still  they  are  very  powerful  in  my  country,  and  an  An  has  small 
chance  of  a  happy  life  if  he  be  not  more  or  less  governed  by 
his  Gy." 

"You  speak  feelingly,"  said  Tae's  sister,  in  a  tone  of  voice 
half-sad,  half-petulant.     "You  are  married,  of  course?' 

"No, — certainlv  not." 

"Nor  betrothed'?" 

"Nor  betrothed." 

"Is  it  possible  that  no  Gy  has  proposed  to  you?" 

"In  my  country  the  Gy  does  not  propose;  the  An  speaks 
first." 

"What  a  strange  reversal  of  the  laws  of  nature!"  said  the 
maiden,  "and  what  want  of  modesty  in  your  sex!  But  have 
you  never  proposed,  never  loved  one  Gy  more  than  another?" 

I  felt  embarrassed  by  these  ingenuous  questionings,  and  said: 
"Pardon  me  but  I  think  we  are  beginning  to  infringe  upon  Aph- 
Lin's  injunction.  Thus  much  only  will  I  say  in  answer,  and 
then,  I  implore  you,  ask  no  more.  I  did  once  feel  the  preference 
you  speak  of ;  I  did  propose  and  the  Gy  would  willingly  have 
accepted  me,  but  her  parents  refused  their  consent." 

"Parents!  Do  you  mean  seriously  to  tell  me  that  parents 
can  interfere  with  the  choice  of  their  daughters?" 

"Indeed  they  can,  and  do  very  often." 

"I  should  not  like  to  live  in  that  country,"  said  the  Gy  sim- 
ply;  "but  I  hope  you  will  never  go  back  to  it." 

I  bowed  my  head  in  silence.  The  Gy  gently  raised  my  face 
with  her  right  hand,  and  looked  into  it  tenderly.  "Stay  with 
us"  she  said;   "stay  with  us,  and  be  loved." 

What  I  might  have  answered,  what  dangers  of  becoming  a 
cinder  I  might  have  encountered,  I  still  tremble  to  think,  when 
the  light  of  the  naphtha  fountain  was  obscured  by  the  shadow  of 
wings ;  and  Zee,  flying  through  the  open  roof,  alighted  beside 
us.  She  said  not  a  word,  but  taking  my  arm  with  her  mighty 
hand,  she  drew  me  away,  as  a  mother  draws  a  naughty  child, 
and  led  me  through  the  apartments  to  one  of  the  corridors,  on 
which,  ty  the  mechanism  they  generally  prefer  to  stairs,  we 


'the  coming   race.  16^ 

ascended  to  my  own  room.  This  gained,  Zee  breathed  on  my 
forehead,  touched  my  breast  with  her  staff,  and  I  was  instantly 
phmged  into  a  profound  sleep. 

When  I  awoke  some  hours  later,  and  heard  the  song  of  the 
birds  in  an  adjoining  aviary,  the  remembrance  of  Tae's  sister, 
her  gentle  looks  and  caressing  words,  vividly  returned  to  me ; 
and  so  impossible  is  it  for  one  bom  and  reared  in  our  upper 
world's  state  of  society  to  divest  himself  of  ideas  dictated  by 
vanity  and  ambition,  that  I  found  myself  instinctively  building 
proud  castles  in  the  air. 

"Tish  though  I  be,"  thus  ran  my  meditations — "Tish 
though  I  be  it  is  then  clear  that  Zee  is  not  the  only  Gy  whom  my 
appearance  can  captivate.  Evidently  I  am  loved  by  A  Prin- 
cess, the  first  maiden  of  this  land,  the  daughter  of  the  abso- 
lute Monarch  whose  autocracy  they  so  idly  seek  to  disguise  by 
the  republican  title  of  chief  magistrate.  But  for  the  sudden 
swoop  of  that  horrible  Zee,  this  Royal  Lady  would  have  for- 
mally proposed  to  me ;  and  though  it  may  be  very  well  for 
Aph-Lin,  who  is  only  a  subordinate  minister,  a  mere  Commis- 
sioner of  Light,  to  threaten  me  with  destruction  if  I  accept  his 
daughter's  hand,  yet  a  Sovereign,  whose  word  is  law,  could 
compel  the  community  to  abrogate  any  custom  that  forbids  in- 
termarriage with  one  of  a  strange  race,  and  which  in  itself  is  a 
contradiction  to  their  boasted  equality  of  ranks. 

"It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  his  daughter,  who  spoke  with 
such  incredulous  scorn  of  the  interference  of  parents,  would 
not  have  sufficient  influence  with  her  Royal  Father  to  save  me 
from  the  combustion  to  which  Aph-Lin  would  condemn  my 
form.  And  if  I  were  exalted  by  such  an  alliance,  who  knows 
but  what  the  Monarch  might  elect  me  as  his  successor.  Why 
not?  Few  among  this  indolent  race  of  philosophers  like  the 
burden  of  such  greatness.  All  might  be  pleased  to  see  the 
supreme  power  lodged  in  the  hands  of  an  accomplished  stran- 
ger who  has  experience  of  other  and  livelier  forms  of  existence; 
and,  once  chosen,  what  reforms  I  would  institute!  What  ad- 
ditions to  the  really  pleasant  but  too  montonous  life  of  this 
fealm  my  familiarity  with  the  civilized  nations  above  ground 
would  effect!  I  am  fond  of  the  sports  of  the  field.  Next  to 
war,  is  not  the  chase  a  king's  pastime?  In  what  varieties  of 
strange  game  does  this  nether  world  abound !  How  interest- 
ing to  strike  down  creatures  that  were  known  above  ground 
before  the  Deluge!  But  how?  By  that  terrible  vril,  in  which, 
from  want  of  hereditary  transmission,  I  could  never  be  a  profi- 
cient ?     No,  but  by  a  civilized  handy  breech-loader,  which  these 


lo6  THE   COMING    RACK. 

ingenious  mechanicians  could  not  only  make,  but  no  doubt 
improve;  nay,  surely  I  saw  one  in  the  Museum.  Indeed,  as 
absolute  king,  I  should  discountenance  vril  altogether,  except 
in  cases  of  war.  Apropos  of  war,  it  is  perfectly  absurd  to  stint 
a  people  so  intelligent,  so  rich,  so  well  armed,  to  a  petty  limit 
of  territory  sufficing  for  10,000  or  12,000  families.  Is  not  this 
restriction  a  mere  philosophical  crotchet,  at  variance  with  the 
aspiring  element  in  human  nature,  such  as  has  been  partially, 
and  with  complete  failure,  tried  in  the  upper  world  by  the  late 
Mr.  Robert  Owen.  Of  course  one  would  not  go  to  war  with 
neighboring  nations  as  well  armed  as  one's  own  subjects ;  but 
then,  what  of  those  regions  inhabited  by  races  unacquainted 
with  vril,  and  apparently  resembling,  in  their  democratic  insti- 
tutions, my  American  countrymen?  One  might  invade  them 
without  offence  to  the  vril  nations,  our  allies,  appropriate  their 
territories,  extending,  perhaps,  to  the  most  distant  regions  of 
the  nether  earth,  and  thus  rule  over  an  empire  in  which  the  sun 
never  sets.  (I  forgot,  in  my  enthusiasm,  that  over  those  re- 
gions there  was  no  sun  to  set.)  As  for  the  fantastical  notion 
against  conceding  fame  or  renown  to  an  eminent  individual, 
because,  forsooth,  bestowal  of  honors  insures  contest  in  the 
pursuit  of  them,  stimulates  angry  passions,  and  mars  the  felic- 
ity of  peace — it  is  opposed  to  the  very  elements,  not  only  of 
the  human  but  the  brute  creation,  which  are  all,  if  tamable, 
participators  in  the  sentiment  of  praise  and  emulation.  What 
renown  would  be  given  to  a  king  who  thus  extended  his  em- 
pire! I  should  be  deemed  a  demigod."  Thinking  of  that, 
the  other  fanatical  notion  of  regulating  this  life  by  reference  to 
one  which,  no  doubt,  we  Christians  firmly  believe  in,  but  never 
take  into  consideration,  I  resolved  that  enlightened  philosophy 
compelled  me  to  abolish  a  heathen  religion  so  superstitiously  at 
variance  with  modern  thought  and  practical  action.  Musing 
over  these  various  projects,  I  felt  how  much  I  should  have 
liked  at  that  moment  to  brighten  my  wits  by  a  good  glass  of 
whiskey  and  water.  Not  that  I  am  habitually  a  spirit-drinker, 
but  certainly  there  are  times  when  a  little  stimulant  of  alcoholic 
nature,  taken  with  a  cigar,  enlivens  the  imagination.  Yes; 
certainly  among  these  herbs  and  fruits  there  would  be  a  liquid 
from  which  one  could  extract  a  pleasant  vinous  alcohol;  and 
with  a  steak  cut  off  one  of  those  elks  (ah !  what  offence  to 
science  to  reject  the  animal  food  which  our  first  medical  men 
agree  in  recommending  to  the  gastric  juices  of  mankind ! ),  one 
would  certainly  pass  a  more  exhilarating  hour  of  repast. 
Then,  too,  instead  of  those  antiquated  dramas  performed  by 


THE  COMING   RACE.  167 

childish  amateurs,  certainly,  when  I  am  king,  I  will  introduce 
our  modern  opera  and  a  corps  de  ballet,  for  which  one  might 
find,  among  the  nations  I  shall  conquer,  young  females  of  less 
formidable  height  and  thews  than  the  Gy-ei — not  armed  with 
vril,  and  not  insisting  upon  one's  marrying  them." 

I  was  so  completely  rapt  in  these  and  similar  reforms,  politi- 
cal, social,  and  moral,  calculated  to  bestow  on  the  people  of 
the  nether  world  the  blessings  of  a  civilization  known  to  the 
races  of  the  upper,  that  I  did  not  perceive  that  Zee  had  entered 
the  chamber  till  I  heard  a  deep  sigh,  and,  raising  my  eyes, 
beheld  her  standing  by  my  couch, 

I  need  not  say  that,  according  to  the  manners  of  this  people, 
a  Gy  can,  without  indecorum,  visit  an  An  in  his  chamber, 
though  an  An  would  be  considered  forward  and  immodest  to 
the  last  degree  if  he  entered  the  chamber  of  a  Gy  without  pre- 
viously obtaining  her  permission  to  do  so.  Fortunately  I  was 
in  the  full  habiliments  I  had  worn  when  Zee  had  deposited  me 
on  the  couch.  Nevertheless  I  felt  much  irritated,  as  well  as 
shocked,  by  her  visit,  and  asked  in  a  rude  tone  what  she 
wanted. 

"Speak  gently,  beloved  one,  I  entreat  you,"  said  she,  "for  I 
am  very  unhappy.     I  have  not  slept  since  we  parted." 

"A  due  sense  of  your  shameful  conduct  to  me  as  your  fath- 
er's guest  might  well  suffice  to  banish  sleep  from  your  eyelids. 
Where  was  the  affection  you  pretended  to  have  for  me? 
Where  was  even  that  politeness  on  which  the  Vril-ya  pride 
themselves,  when,  taking  advantage  alike  of  that  physical 
strength  in  which  your  sex,  in  this  extraordinary  region,  excels 
our  own,  and  of  those  detestable  and  unhallowed  powers  which 
the  agencies  of  vril  invest  in  your  eyes  and  finger-ends,  you 
exposed  me  to  humiliation  before  your  assembled  visitors, 
before  Her  Royal  Highness — I  mean,  the  daughter  of  your 
own  chief  magistrate — carrying  me  off  to  bed  like  a  naughty 
infant,  and  plunging  me  into  sleep,  without  asking  my  con- 
sent?" 

"Ungrateful!  Do  you  reproach  me  for  the  evidences  of  my 
love?  Can  you  think  that,  even  if  unstung  by  the  jealousy 
which  attends  upon  love  till  it  fades  away  in  blissful  trust  when 
we  know  that  the  heart  we  have  wooed  is  won,  I  could  be  in- 
different to  the  perils  to  which  the  audacious  overtures  of  that 
silly  little  child  might  expose  you?" 

"Hold!  Since  you  introduce  the  subject  of  perils,  it  per- 
haps does  not  misbecome  me  to  say  that  my  most  imminent 
perils  come  from  yourself,  or  at  least  would  come  if  I  believed 


io8  The  coming   race. 

in  your  love  and  accepted  your  •'ddresses.  Your  father  has 
told  me  plainly  that  in  that  case  1  should  be  consumed  into  a 
cinder  with  as  little  compunction  as  if  I  were  the  reptile  whom 
Tae  blasted  into  ashes  with  the  flash  of  his  wand." 

"Do  not  let  that  fear  chill  your  heart  to  me,"  exclaimed 
Zee,  dropping  on  her  knees  and  absorbing  my  right  hand  in  the 
space  of  her  ample  palm.  "It  is  true,  indeed,  that  we  two 
cannot  wed  as  those  of  the  same  race  wed;  true  that  the  love 
between  us  must  be  pure  as  that  which,  in  our  belief,  exists 
between  lovers  who  reunite  in  the  new  life  beyond  that  boun- 
dary at  which  the  old  life  ends.  But  is  it  not  happiness 
enough  to  be  together,  wedded  in  mind  and  in  heart?  Listen: 
I  have  just  left  my  father.  He  consents  to  our  union  on  those 
terms.  I  have  sufficient  influence  with  the  College  of  Sages  to 
insure  their  request  to  the  Tur  not  to  interfere  with  the  free 
choice  of  a  Gy,  provided  that  her  wedding  with  one  of  another 
race  be  but  the  wedding  of  souls.  Oh,  think  you  that  true 
love  needs  ignoble  union?  It  is  not  that  I  yearn  only  to  be  by 
your  side  in  this  life,  to  be  part  and  parcel  of  your  joys  and 
sorrows  here :  I  ask  here  for  a  tie  which  will  bind  us  forever 
and  forever  in  the  world  of  immortals.     Do  you  reject  me?" 

As  she  spoke,  she  knelt,  and  the  whole  character  of  her  face 
was  changed ;  nothing  of  sternness  left  to  its  grandeur;  a 
divine  light,  as  that  of  an  immortal,  shining  out  from  its  human 
beauty.  But  she  rather  awed  me  as  angel  than  moved  me  as 
woman,  and  after  an  embarrassed  pause,  I  faltered  forth  evasive 
expressions  of  gratitude,  and  sought,  as  delicately  as  I  could, 
to  point  out  how  humiliating  would  be  my  position  amongst 
her  race  in  the  light  of  a  husband  who  might  never  be  per- 
mitted the  name  of  father." 

"But,"  said  Zee,  "this  community  does  not  constitute  the 
whole  world.  No ;  nor  do  all  the  populations  comprised  in  the 
league  of  the  Vril-ya.  For  thy  sake  I  will  renounce  my  coun- 
try and  my  people.  We  will  fly  together  to  some  region  where 
thou  shalt  be  safe.  I  am  strong  enough  to  bear  thee  on  my 
wings  across  the  deserts  that  intervene.  I  am  skilled  enough 
to  cleave  open,  amid  the  rocks,  valleys  in  which  to  build  our 
home.  Solitude  and  a  hut  with  thee  would  be  to  me  society 
and  the  universe.  Or  wouldst  thou  return  to  thine  own  world, 
above  the  surface  of  this,  exposed  to  the  uncertain  seasons, 
and  lit  but  by  the  changeful  orbs  which  constitute,  by  thy  de- 
scription, the  fickle  character  of  those  savage  regions?  If  so, 
speak  the  word,  and  I  will  force  the  way  for  thy  return,  so  that 
I  am  thy  companion  there,  though,  there  as  here,  but  partnet 


*rtit.    COMING     RACt.  i6^ 

of  thy  soul,  and  fellow-traveller  with  thee  to  the  world  in 
which  there  is  no  parting  and  no  death." 

I  could  not  but  be  deeply  affected  by  the  tenderness,  at  once 
so  pure  and  so  impassioned,  with  which  these  words  were 
uttered,  and  in  a  voice  that  would  have  rendered  musical  the 
roughest  sounds  in  the  rudest  tongue.  And  for  a  moment  it 
did  occur  to  me  that  I  might  avail  myself  of  Zee's  agency  to 
effect  a  safe  and  speedy  return  to  the  upper  world.  But  a  very 
brief  space  for  reflection  sufficed  to  show  me  how  dishonorable 
and  base  a  return  for  such  devotion  it  would  be  to  allure  thus 
away,  from  her  own  people  and  a  home  in  which  I  had  been  so 
hospitably  treated,  a  creature  to  whom  our  world  would  be  so 
abhorrent,  and  for  whose  barren,  if  spiritual  love,  I  could  not 
reconcile  myself  to  renounce  the  more  human  affection  of 
mates  less  exalted  above  my  erring  self.  With  this  sentiment 
of  duty  towards  the  Gy  combined  another  of  duty  towards  the 
whole  race  I  belonged  to.  Could  I  venture  to  introduce  into 
the  upper  world  a  being  so  formidably  gifted — a  being  that 
with  a  movement  of  her  staff  could  in  less  than  an  hour  reduce 
New  York  and  its  glorious  Koom-Posh  into  a  pinch  of  snuff? 
Rob  her  of  one  staff,  with  her  science  she  could  easily  con- 
struct another;  and  with  the  deadly  lightnings  that  armed  the 
slender  engine  her  whole  frame  was  charged.  If  thus  danger- 
ous to  the  cities  and  populations  of  the  whole  upper  earth,  could 
she  be  a  safe  companion  to  myself  in  case  her  affection  should 
be  subjected  to  change  or  embittered  by  jealousy?  These 
thoughts,  which  it  takes  so  many  words  to  express,  passed  rap- 
idly through  my  brain  and  decided  my  answer. 

"Zee,"  I  said,  in  the  softest  tones  I  could  command,  and 
pressing  respectful  lips  on  the  hand  into  whose  clasp  mine  had 
vanished;  "Zee,  I  can  find  no  words  to  say  how  deeply  I  am 
touched  and  how  highly  I  am  honored,  by  a  love  so  disinter- 
ested and  self-immolating.  My  best  return  to  it  is  perfect 
frankness.  Each  nation  has  its  customs.  The  customs  of 
yours  do  not  allow  you  towed  me;  the  customs  of  mine  are 
equally  opposed  to  such  a  union  between  those  of  races  so 
widely  differing.  On  the  other  hand,  though  not  deficient  in 
courage  among  my  own  people,  or  amid  dangers  with  which  I 
am  familiar,  I  cannot,  without  a  shudder  of  horror,  think  of 
constructing  a  bridal  home  in  the  heart  of  some  dismal  chaos, 
with  all  the  elements  of  nature,  fire  and  water  and  mephitic 
gases,  at  war  with  each  other,  and  with  the  probability  that  at 
some  moment,  while  you  were  busied  in  cleaving  rocks  or  con- 
veying vril  into  lamps,  I  should  be  devoured  by  a  krek  which 


tld  The  coming   race. 

your  operations  disturbed  from  its  hiding-place.  1,  a  tnett 
Tish,  do  not  deserve  the  love  of  a  Gy,  so  brilliant,  so  learned, 
so  potent  as  yourself.  Yes,  I  do  not  deserve  that  love,  for  I 
cannot  return  it." 

Zee  released  my  hand,  rose  to  her  feet,  and  turned  her  face 
away  to  hide  her  emotions ;  then  she  glided  noiselessly  along 
the  room,  and  paused  at  the  threshold.  Suddenly,  impelled  as 
by  a  new  thought,  she  returned  to  my  side  and  said,  in  a  whis- 
pered tone: 

"You  told  me  you  would  speak  with  perfect  frankness. 
With  perfect  frankness,  then,  answer  me  this  question.  If  you 
cannot  love  me,  do  you  love  another?" 

"Certainly,  I  do  not." 

"You  do  not  love  Tae's  sister?" 

"I  never  saw  her  before  last  night." 

"That  is  no  answer.  Love  is  swifter  than  vril.  You  hesi- 
tate to  tell  me.  Do  not  think  it  is  only  jealousy  that  prompts 
me  to  caution  you.  If  the  Tur's  daughter  should  declare  love 
to  you — if  in  her  ignorance  she  confides  to  her  father  any  pref- 
erence that  may  justify  his  belief  that  she  will  woo  you — he  will 
have  no  option  but  to  request  your  immediate  destruction,  as 
he  is  specially  charged  with  the  duty  of  consulting  the  good  of 
the  community,  which  could  not  allow  a  daughter  of  the  Vril-ya 
to  wed  a  son  of  the  Tish-a,  in  that  sense  of  marriage  which 
does  not  confine  itself  to  union  of  the  souls.  Alas!  there 
would  then  be  for  you  no  escape.  She  has  no  strength  of  wing 
to  uphold  you  through  the  air;  she  has  no  science  wherewith 
to  make  a  home  in  the  wilderness.  Believe  that  here  my 
friendship  speaks,  and  that  my  jealousy  is  silent." 

With  those  words  Zee  left  me.  And  recalling  those  words, 
I  thought  no  more  of  succeeding  to  the  throne  of  the  Vril-ya, 
or  of  the  political,  social,  and  moral  reforms  I  should  institute 
in  the  capacity  of  Absolute  Sovereign. 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

After  the  conversation  with  Zee  just  recorded,  I  fell  into  a 
profound  melancholy.  The  curious  interest  with  which  I  had 
hitherto  examined  the  life  and  habits  of  this  marvellous  com- 
munity was  at  an  end.  I  could  not  banish  from  my  mind  the 
consciousness  that  I  was  among  a  people  who,  however  kind 
and  courteous,  could  destroy  me  at  any  moment  without  scru- 
ple or  compunction.  The  virtues  and  peaceful  life  of  the  peo- 
ple which,  while  new  to  me,  had  seemed  so  holy  a  contrast  to 


THE     COMING     RACE.  Ill 

the  contentions,  the  passions,  the  vices  of  the  upper  world,  now 
began  to  oppress  me  with  a  sense  of  dulness  and  monotony. 
Even  the  serene  tranquillity  of  the  lustrous  air  preyed  on  my 
spirits.  I  longed  for  a  change,  even  to  winter,  or  storm,  or 
darkness.  I  began  to  feel  that,  whatever  our  dreams  of  per- 
fectibility, our  restless  aspirations  towards  a  better,  and  higher, 
and  calmt?r  sphere  of  being,  we,  the  mortals  of  the  upper  world, 
are  not  trained  or  fitted  to  enjoy  for  long  the  very  happiness  of 
which  we  dream  or  to  which  we  aspire. 

Now,  in  this  social  state  of  the  Vril-ya,  it  was  singular  to  mark 
how  it  contrived  to  unite  and  to  harmonize  into  one  system 
nearly  all  the  objects  which  the  various  philosophers  of  the 
upper  world  have  placed  before  human  hopes  as  the  ideals  of  a 
Utopian  future.  It  was  a  state  in  which  war,  with  all  its 
calamities,  was  deemed  impossible ;  a  state  in  which  the  free- 
dom of  all  and  each  was  secured  to  the  uttermost  degree,  with- 
out one  of  those  animosities  which  make  freedom  in  the  upper 
world  depend  on  the  perpetual  strife  of  hostile  parties 
Here  the  corruption  which  debases  democracies  was  as  un- 
known as  the  discontents  which  undermine  the  thrones  of  mon- 
archies. Equality  here  was  not  a  name;  it  was  a  reality. 
Riches  were  not  persecuted  because  they  were  not  envied. 
Here  those  problems  connected  with  the  labors  of  a  working 
class,hitherto  insoluble  above  ground, and  above  ground  conduc- 
ing to  such  bitterness  between  classes,  were  solved  by  a  process 
the  simplest, — a  distinct  and  separate  working  class  was  dis- 
pensed with  altogether.  Mechanical  inventions,  constructed  on 
principles  that  baffled  my  research  to  ascertain,  worked  by  an 
agency  infinitely  more  powerful  and  infinitely  more  easy  of  man- 
agement than  aught  we  have  yet  extracted  from  electricity  or 
steam,  with  the  aid  of  children  whose  strength  was  never  over- 
tasked, but  who  loved  their  employment  as  sport  and  pastime, 
sufficed  to  create  a  Public-wealth  so  devoted  to  the  general  use 
that  not  a  grumbler  was  ever  heard  of.  The  vices  that  rot  our 
cities,  here  had  no  footing.  Amusements  abounded,  but  they 
were  all  innocent.  No  merry-makings  conduced  to  intoxication, 
to  riot,  to  disease.  Love  existed,  and  was  ardent  in  pursuit, 
but  its  object  once  secured,  was  faithful.  The  adulterer,  the 
profligate,  the  harlot,  were  phenomena  so  unknown  in  this 
commonwealth,  that  even  to  find  the  words  by  which  they  were 
designated  one  would  have  had  to  search  throughout  an  obso- 
lete literature  composed  thousands  of  years  before.  They 
who  have  been  students  of  theoretical  philosophies  above 
ground  know  that  all  these  strange  departures  from  civilized 


113  THE    COMING     RACE. 

life  do  but  realize  ideas  which  have  been  broached,  canvassed, 
ridiculed,  contested  for;  sometimes  partially  tried,  and  still  put 
forth  in  fantastic  books,  but  have  never  come  to  practical 
results.  Nor  were  these  all  the  steps  towards  theoretical  perfec- 
tibility which  this  community  had  made.  It  had  been  the 
sober  belief  of  Descartes  that  the  life  of  man  could  be  pro- 
longed, not  indeed,  on  this  earth,  to  eternal  duration,  but  to 
w^hat  he  called  the  age  of  the  patriarchs,  and  modestly  defined 
to  be  from  loo  to  150  years  average  length.  Well,  even  this 
dream  of  sages  was  here  fulfilled — nay,  more  than  fulfilled ;  for 
the  vigor  of  middle  life  was  preserved  even  after  the  term  of  a 
century  was  passed.  With  this  longevity  was  combined  a 
greater  blessing  than  itself — that  of  continuous  health.  Such 
diseases  as  befell  the  race  were  removed  with  ease  by  scientific 
applications  of  that  agency — life-giving  as  life-destroying — 
which  is  inherent  in  vril.  Even  this  idea  is  not  unknown  above 
ground,  though  it  has  generally  been  confined  to  enthusiasts  or 
charlatans,  and  emanates  from  confused  notions  about  mes- 
merism, odic  force,  etc.  Passing  by  such  trivial  contrivances 
as  wings,  w^hich  every  schoolboy  knows  has  been  tried  and 
found  wanting,  from  the  mythical  or  pre-historical  period,  I 
proceed  to  that  very  delicate  question,  urged  of  late  as  essential 
to  the  perfect  happiness  of  our  human  species  by  the  two  most 
disturbing  and  potential  influences  on  upper-ground  society — 
Womankind  and  Philosophy.  I  mean,  the  Rights  of  Women. 
Now,  it  is  allowed  by  jurisprudists  that  it  is  idle  to  talk  of 
rights  where  there  are  not  corresponding  powers  to  enforce 
them ;  and  above  ground,  for  some  reason  or  other,  man,  in 
his  physical  force,  in  the  use  of  weapons  offensive  and  defen- 
sive, when  it  comes  to  positive  personal  contest,  can,  as  a  rule 
of  general  application,  iwaster  women.  But  among  this  people 
there  can  be  no  doubt  about  the  rights  of  women,  because,  as 
I  have  before  said,  the  Gy,  physically  speaking,  is  bigger  and 
stronger  than  the  An ;  and  her  will  being  also  more  resolute 
than  his,  and  will  being  essential  to  the  direction  of  the  vril 
force,  she  can  bring  to  bear  upon  him,  more  potently  than  he 
on  herself,  the  mystical  agency  which  art  can  extract  from  the 
occult  properties  of  nature.  Therefore  all  that  our  female  phil- 
osophers above  ground  contend  for,  as  to  rights  of  women, 
is  conceded  as  a  matter  of  course  in  this  happy  commonwealth. 
Besides  such  physical  powers,  the  Gy-ei  have  (at  least  in  youth) 
a  keen  desire  for  accomplishments  and  learning  which  exceeds 
that  of  the  male ;  and  thus  they  are  the  scholars,  the  profes- 
sors— the  learned  portion,  in  short,  of  the  community. 


THE    COMING     RACE.  II3 

Of  course,  in  this  state  of  society  the  female  establishes,  as  I 
have  shown,  her  most  valued  privilege,  that  of  choosing  and 
courting  her  wedding  partner.  Without  that  privilege  she 
would  despise  all  the  others.  Now,  above  ground,  we  should 
not  unreasonably  apprehend  that  a  female,  thus  potent  and 
thus  privileged,  when  she  had  fairly  hunted  us  down  and  mar- 
ried us,  would  be  very  imperious  and  tyrannical.  Not  so  with 
the  Gy-ei :  once  married,  the  wings  once  suspended,  and  more 
amiable,  complacent,  docile  mates,  more  sympathetic,  more 
sinking  their  loftier  capacities  into  the  study  of  their  husbands' 
comparatively  frivolous  tastes  and  whims,  no  poet  could  con- 
ceive in  his  visions  of  conjugal  bliss.  Lastly,  among  the  more 
important  characteristics  of  the  Vril-ya,  as  distinguished  from 
our  mankind — lastly,  and  most  important  on  the  bearings  of 
their  life  and  the  peace  of  their  commonwealth,  is  their  univer- 
sal agreement  in  the  existence  of  a  merciful,  beneficent  Deity, 
and  of  a  future  world  to  the  duration  of  which  a  century  or 
two  are  moments  too  brief  to  waste  upon  thoughts  of  fame  and 
power  and  avarice;  while  with  that  agreement  is  combined  an- 
other, viz.,  since  they  can  know  nothing  as  to  the  nature  of 
that  Deity  beyond  the  fact  of  His  supreme  goodness,  nor  of 
that  future  world  beyond  the  fact  of-its  felicitous  existence,  so 
their  reason  forbids  all  angry  disputes  on  insoluble  questions. 
Thus  they  secure  for  that  state  in  the  bowels  of.  the  earth  what 
no  community  ever  secured  under  the  light  of  the  stars — all  the 
blessings  and  consolations  of  a  religion  without  any  of  the  evils 
and  calamities  which  are  engendered  by  strife  between  one 
religion  and  another. 

It  would  be,  then,  utterly  impossible  to  deny  that  the  state 
of  existence  among  the  Vril-ya  is  thus,  as  a  whole,  immeas- 
urably more  felicitous  than  that  of  guperterrestrial  races,  and, 
realizing  the  dreams  of  our  most  sanguine  philanthropists  al- 
most approaches  to  a  poet's  conception  of  some  angelical 
order.  And  yet,  if  you  would  take  a  thousand  of  the  best  and 
most  philosophical  of  human  beings  you  could  find  in  London, 
Paris,  Berlin,  New  York,  or  even  Boston,  and  place  them  as 
citizens  in  this  beatified  community,  my  belief  is,  that  in  less 
than  a  year  they  would  either  die  of  ennui,  or  attempt  some 
revolution  by  which  they  would  militate  against  the  good  of  the 
community,  and  be  burnt  into  cinders  at  the  request  of  the  Tur. 

Certainly  I  have  no  desire  to  insinuate,  through  the  medium 
of  this  narrative,  any  ignorant  disparagement  of  the  race  to 
which  I  belong.  I  have,  on  the  contrary,  endeavored  to  make 
it  clear  that  the  principles  which  regulate  the  social  system  of 


J 14  THE    COMING     RACE. 

the  Vril-ya  forbid  them  to  produce  those  individual  examples 
of  human  greatness  which  adorn  the  annals  of  the  upper  world. 
Where  there  are  no  wars  there  can  j?e  no  Hannibal,  no  Wash- 
ington, no  Jackson,  no  Sheridan;  where  states  are  so  happy  that 
they  fear  no  danger  and  desire  no  change,  they  cannot  give 
birth  to  a  Demosthenes,  a  Webster,  a  Sumner,  a  Wendell 
Holmes,  or  a  Butler;  and  where  a  society  attains  to  a  moral 
standard,  in  which  there  are  no  crimes  and  no  sorrows  from 
which  tragedy  can  extract  its  aliment  of  pity  and  sorrow,  no 
salient  vices  or  follies  on  which  comedy  can  lavish  its  mirthful 
satire,  it  has  lost  the  chance  of  producing  a  Shakspeare,  or  a 
Moliere,  or  a  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe.  But  if  I  have  no  desire  to 
disparage  my  fellow-men  above  ground  in  showing  how  much 
the  motives  that  impel  the  energies  and  ambition  of  individuals 
in  a  society  of  contest  and  struggle,  become  dormant  or  an- 
nulled in  a  society  which  aims  at  securing  for  the  aggregate  the 
calm  and  innocent  felicity  which  we  presume  to  be  the  lot  of 
beatified  immortals;  neither,  on  the  other  hand,  have  I  the 
wish  to  represent  the  commonwealths  of  the  Vril-ya  as  an  ideal 
form  of  political  society,  to  the  attainment  of  which  our  own 
efforts  of  reform  should  be  directed.  On  the  contrary,  it  is 
because  we  have  so  combined,  throughout  the  series  of  ages, 
the  elements  which  compose  human  character,  that  it  would  be 
utterly  impossible  for  us  to  adopt  the  modes  of  life,  or  to  rec- 
oncile our  passions  to  the  modes  of  thought,  among  the 
Vril-ya,  that  I  arrived  at  the  conviction  that  this  people, 
though  originally  not  only  of  our  human  race,  but,  as  seems  to 
me  clear  by  the  roots  of  their  language,  descended  from  the 
same  ancestors  as  the  great  Aryan  family,  from  which  in  varied 
streams  has  flowed  the  dominant  civilization  of  the  world ;  and 
having,  according  to  their  myths  and  their  history,  passed 
through  phases  of  society  familiar  to  ourselves, — had  yet  now 
developed  into  a  distinct  species  with  which  it  was  impossible 
that  any  community  in  the  upper  world  could  amalgamate :  and 
that  if  they  ever  emerged  from  these  nether  recesses  into  the 
light  of  day,  they  would,  according  to  their  own  traditional 
persuasions  of  their  ultimate  destiny,  destroy  and  replace  our 
existent  varieties  of  man. 

It  may,  indeed,  be  said,  since  more  than  one  Gy  could  be 
found  to  conceive  a  partiality  for  so  ordinary  a  type  of  our 
superterrestrial  race  as  myself,  that  even  if  the  Vril-ya  did  ap- 
pear above  ground,  we  migbt  be  saved  from  extermination  by 
intermixture  of  race.  But  this  is  too  sanguine  a  belief.  In- 
stances of  such  mhalUance  would  be  as  rare  as  those  of  inter- 


THE    COMING     RACE.  115 

marriage  between  the  Anglo-Saxon  emigrants  and  the  Red  In- 
dians. Nor  would  time  be  allowed  for  the  operation  of 
familiar  intercourse.  The  Vril-ya,  on  emerging,  induced  by 
the  charm  of  a  sunlit  heaven  to  form  their  settlements  above 
ground,  would  commence  at  once  the  work  of  destruction  seize 
upon  the  territories  already  cultivated,  and  clear  off,  without 
scruple,  all  the  inhabitants  who  resisted  that  invasion.  And 
considering  their  contempt  for  the  institutions  of  Koom-Posh 
or  Popular  Government,  and  the  pugnacious  valor  of  my  be- 
loved countrymen,  I  believe  that  if  the  Vril-ya  first  appeared 
in  free  America — as,  being  the  choicest  portion  of  the  habit- 
able earth,  they  would  doubtless  be  induced  to  do — and  said: 
"This  quarter  of  the  globe  we  take;  Citizens  of  a  Koom-Posh, 
make  way  for  the  development  of  species  in  the  Vril-ya,"  my 
brave  compatriots  would  show  fight,  and  not  a  soul  of  them 
would  be  left  in  this  life,  to  rally  round  the  Stars  and  Stripes, 
at  the  end  of  a  week. 

I  now  saw  but  little  of  Zee,  save  at  meals,  when  the  family 
assembled,  and  she  was  then  reserved  and  silent.  My  appre- 
hensions of  danger  from  an  affection  I  had  so  little  encour- 
aged or  deserved,  therefore,  now  faded  away,  but  my  dejection 
continued  to  increase.  I  pined  for  escape  to  the  upper  world, 
but  I  racked  my  brains  in  vain  for  any  means  to  effect  it.  I 
was  never  permitted  to  wander  forth  alone,  so  that  I  could  not 
even  visit  the  spot  on  which  I  had  alighted,  and  see  if  it  were 
possible  to  re-ascend  to  the  mine.  Nor  even  in  the  Silent 
Hours,  when  the  household  was  locked  in  sleep,  could  I  have 
let  myself  down  from  the  lofty  floor  in  which  my  apartment 
was  placed.  I  knew  not  how  to  command  the  automata  who 
stood  mockingly  at  my  beck  beside  the  wall,  nor  could  I  ascer- 
tain the  springs  by  which  were  set  in  movement  the  platforms 
that  supplied  the  place  of  stairs.  The  knowledge  how  to  avail 
myself  of  these  contrivances  had  been  purposely  withheld  from 
me.  Oh,  that  I  could  but  have  learned  the  use  of  wings,  so 
freely  here  at  the  service  of  every  infant,  that  I  might  have 
escaped  from  the  casement,  regained  the  rocks,  and  buoyed 
myself  aloft  through  the  chasm  of  which  the  perpendicular 
sides  forbade  place  for  human  footing! 

CHAPTER  XXVII, 

ONt  day,  as  I  sat  alone  and  brooding  in  my  chamber,  Tae 
flew  in  at  the  open  window,  and  alighted  on  the  couch  beside 
me.     I  was  always  pleased  with  the  visits  of  a  child,  in  whose 


Ii6  THE    COMING    RACE. 

society,  if  humbled,  I  was  less  eclipsed  than  in  that  of  Ana  who 
had  completed  their  education  and  matured  their  understand- 
ing. And  as  I  was  permitted  to  wander  forth  with  him  for  my 
companion,  and  as  I  longed  to  revisit  the  spot  in  which  I  had 
descended  into  the  nether  world,  I  hastened  to  ask  him  if  he 
were  at  leisure  for  a  stroll  beyond  the  streets  of  the  city.  His 
countenance  seemed  to  me  graver  than  usual  as  he  replied: 
"I  came  hither  on  purpose  to  invite  you  forth." 

We  soon  found  ourselves  in  the  street,  and  had  not  gone  far 
from  the  house  when  we  encountered  five  or  six  young  Gy-ei 
who  were  returning  from  the  fields  with  baskets  full  of  flowers, 
and  chanting  a  song  in  chorus  as  they  walked.  A  young  Gy 
sings  more  often  than  she  talks.  They  stopped  on  seeing  us, 
accosting  Tae  with  familiar  kindness,  and  me  with  the  cour- 
teous gallantry  which  distinguishes  the  Gy-ei  in  their  manner 
towards  our  weaker  sex. 

And  here  I  may  observe,  that,  though  a  virgin  Gy  is  so  frank 
in  her  courtship  to  the  individual  she  favors,  there  is  nothing 
that  approaches  to  that  general  breadth  and  loudness  of  manner 
which  those  young  ladies  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  to  whom 
the  distinguished  epithet  of  "fast"  is  accorded,  exhibit  towards 
young  gentlemen  whom  they  do  not  profess  to  love.  No:  the 
bearing  of  the  Gy-ei  towards  males  in  ordinary  is  very  much 
that  of  high-bred  men  in  the  gallant  societies  of  the  upper  world 
towards  ladies  whom  they  respect  but  do  not  woo;  deferen- 
tial, complimentary,  exquisitely  polished — what  we  should  call 
"chivalrous." 

Certainly  I  was  a  little  put  out  by  the  number  of  civil  things, 
addressed  to  my  amour  propre,  which  were  said  to  me  by  these 
courteous  young  Gy-ei.  In  the  world  I  came  from,  a  man  would 
have  thought  himself  aggrieved,  treated  with  irony,  "chaffed" 
(if  so  vulgar  a  slang  word  may  be  allowed  on  the  authority  of 
the  popular  novelists  who  use  it  so  freely),  when  one  fair  Gy 
complimented  me  on  the  freshness  of  my  complexion,  another 
on  the  choice  of  colors  in  my  dress,  a  third,  with  a  sly  smile,  on 
the  conquests  I  had  made  at  Aph-Lin's  entertainment.  But  I 
knew  already  that  all  such  language  was  what  the  French  call 
banal ;  and  did  but  express  in  the  female  mouth,  below  earth, 
that  sort  of  desire  to  pass  for  amiable  with  the  opposite  sex 
which,  above  earth,  arbitrary  custom  and  hereditary  transmis- 
sion demonstrate  by  the  mouth  of  the  male.  And  just  as  a 
high  bred  young  lady  above  earth,  habituated  to  such  compli- 
ments, feels  that  she  cannot,  without  impropriety,  return  them, 
nor  evince  any  great  satisfaction  at  receiving  them;  so  I,  who 


THE   COMING    RACE.  I17 

had  learned  polite  manners  at  the  house  of  so  wealthy  and  dig- 
nified a  Minister  of  that  nation,  could  but  smile,  and  try  to  look 
pretty,  in  bashfully  disclaiming  the  compliments  showered  upon 
me.  While  we  were  thus  talking,  Tae's  sister,  it  seems,  had 
seen  us  from  the  upper  rooms  of  the  Royal  Palace  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  town,  and,  precipitating  herself  on  her  wings, 
alighted  in  the  midst  of  the  group. 

Singling  me  out,  she  said,  though  still  with  the  inimitable 
deference  of  manner  which  I  have  called  "chivalrous,"  yet  not 
without  a  certain  abruptness  of  tone  which,  as  addressed  to  the 
weaker  sex.  Sir  Philip  Sydney  might  have  termed  "rustic," 
"Why  do  you  never  come  to  see  us?" 

While  I  was  deliberating  on  the  right  answer  to  give  to 
this  unlooked-for  question,  Tae  said  quickly  and  sternly:  "Sis- 
ter, you  forget — the  stranger  is  of  my  sex.  It  is  not  for  per- 
sons of  my  sex,  having  due  regard  for  reputation  and  modesty, 
to  lower  themselves  by  running  after  the  society  of  yours." 

This  speech  was  received  with  evident  approval  by  the  young 
Gy-ei  in  general;  but  Tae's  sister  looked  greatly  abashed. 
Poor  thing! — and  a  Princess  too! 

Just  at  this  moment  a  shadow  fell  on  the  space  between  me 
and  the  group;  and,  turning  round,  I  beheld  the  chief  magis- 
trate coming  close  upon  us,  with  the  silent  and  stately  pace 
peculiar  to  the  Vril-ya.  At  the  sight  of  his  countenance,  the 
same  terror  which  had  seized  me  when  I  first  beheld  it  returned. 
On  that  brow,  in  those  eyes,  there  was  that  same  indefinable 
something  which  marked  the  being  of  a  race  fatal  to  our  own — ■ 
that  strange  expression  of  serene  exemption  from  our  common 
cares  and  passions,  of  conscious  superior  power,  compassionate 
and  inflexible  as  that  of  a  judge  who  pronounces  doom.  I 
shivered  and,  inclining  low,  pressed  the  arm  of  my  child-friend, 
and  drew  him  onward  silently.  The  Tur  placed  himself  before 
our  path,  regarded  me  for  a  moment  without  speaking,  then 
turned  his  eye  quietly  on  his  daughter's  face,  and  with  a  grave 
salutation  to  her  and  the  other  Gy-ei,  went  through  the  midst 
of  the  group — still  without  a  word. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

When  Tae  and  I  found  ourselves  alone  on  the  broad  road 
that  lay  between  the  city  and  the  chasm  through  which  I  had 
descended  into  this  region  beneath  the  light  of  the  stars  and 
sun,  I  said  under  my  breath:  "Child  and  friend,  there  is  a  look 


Il8  THE   COMING   kACE. 

in  your  father's  face  which  appals  me.  I  feel  as  if,  in  its  aw- 
ful tranquillity,  I  gazed  upon  death." 

Tae  did  not  immediately  reply.  He  seemed  agitated,  and  as 
if  debating  with  himself  by  what  words  to  soften  some  unwel- 
come intelligence.  At  last  he  said:  "None  of  the  Vril-ya  fear 
death:  do  you?" 

"The  dread  of  death  is  implanted  in  the  breasts  of  the  race 
to  which  I  belong.  We  can  conquer  it  at  the  call  of  duty,  of 
honor,  of  love.  We  can  die  for  a  truth,  for  a  native  land,  for 
those  who  are  dearer  to  us  than  ourselves.  But  if  death  do 
really  threaten  me  now  and  here,  where  are  such  counteractions 
to  the  natural  instinct  which  invests  with  awe  and  terror  the 
contemplation  of  severance  between  soul  and  body?' ' 

Tae  looked  surprised,  but  there  was  great  tenderness  in  his 
voice  as  he  replied :  "I  will  tell  my  father  what  you  say.  I 
will  entreat  him  to  spare  your  life." 

"He  has,  then,  already  decreed  to  destroy  it?" 

"  'Tis  my  sister's  fault  or  folly,"  said  Tae,  with  some  petu- 
lance. "But  she  spoke  this  morning  to  my  father;  and,  after 
she  had  spoken,  he  summoned  me,  as  a  chief  among  the  chil- 
dren who  are  commissioned  to  destroy  such  lives  as  threaten 
the  community,  and  he  said  tome:  'Take  thy  vril  staff,  and 
seek  the  stranger  who  has  made  himself  dear  to  thee.  Be  his 
end  painless  and  prompt.'  " 

"And,"  I  faltered,  recoiling  from  the  child — "and  it  is, 
then,  for  my  murder  that  thus  treacherously  thou  hast  invited 
me  forth?  No,  I  cannot  believe  it.  I  cannot  think  thee  guilty 
of  such  a  crime. ' ' 

"It  is  no  crime  to  slay  those  who  threaten  the  good  of  the 
community ;  it  would  be  a  crime  to  slay  the  smallest  insect  that 
cannot  harm  us." 

"If  you  mean  that  I  threaten  the  good  of  the  community  be- 
cause your  sister  honors  me  with  the  sort  of  preference  which 
a  child  may  feel  for  a  strange  plaything,  it  is  not  necessary  to 
kill  me.  Let  me  return  to  the  people  I  have  left,  and  by  the 
chasm  through  which  I  descended.  With  a  slight  help  from 
you,  I  might  do  so  now.  You,  by  the  aid  of  your  wings,  could 
fasten  to  the  rocky  ledge  within  the  chasm  the  cord  that  you 
found,  and  have  no  doubt  preserved.  Do  but  that ;  assist  me 
but  to  the  spot  from  which  I  alighted,  and  I  vanish  from  your 
world  forever  and  as  surely  as  if  I  were  among  the  dead." 

"The  chasm  through  which  you  descended!  Look  round; 
we  stand  now  on  the  very  place  where  it  yawned.  What  see 
you?     Only  solid  rock.     The  chasm  was  closed,  by  the  orders 


THE    COMING     RACE,  H9 

of  Aph-Lin,  as  soon  as  communication  between  him  and  your- 
self was  established  in  your  trance,  and  he  learned  from  your 
own  lips  the  nature  of  the  world  from  which  you  came.  Do 
you  not  remember  when  Zee  bade  me  not  question  you  as  to 
yourself  or  your  race?  On  quitting  you  that  day,  Aph-Lin  ac- 
costed me,  and  said:  'No  path  between  the  stranger's  home 
and  ours  should  be  left  unclosed,  or  the  sorrow  and  evil  of  his 
home  may  descend  to  ours.  Take  with  thee  the  children  of 
thy  band,  smite  the  sides  of  the  cavern  with  your  vril  staves 
till  the  fall  of  their  fragments  fills  up  every  chink  through  which 
a  gleam  of  our  lamps  could  force  its  way.'  " 

As  the  child  spoke,  I  stared  aghast  at  the  blind  rocks  before 
me.  Huge  and  irregular,  the  granite  masses,  showing  by 
charred  discoloration  where  they  had  been  shattered,  rose  from 
footing  to  roof-top;  not  a  cranny! 

"All  hope,  then,  is  gone,"  I  murmured,  sinking  down  on  the 
craggy  wayside,  "and  I  shall  nevermore  see  the  sun."  I  cov- 
ered my  face  with  my  hands,  and  prayed  to  Him  whose  presence 
I  had  so  often  forgotten  when  the  heavens  had  declared  His 
handiwork.  I  felt  His  presence  in  the  depths  of  the  nether 
earth,  and  amid  the  world  of  the  grave.  I  looked  up,  taking 
comfort  and  courage  from  my  prayers,  and  gazing  with  a  quiet 
smile  into  the  face  of  the  child,  said:  "Now,  if  thou  must  slay 
me,  strike." 

Tae  shook  his  head  gently.  "Nay,"  he  said,  "my  father's 
request  is  not  so  formally  made  as  to  leave  me  no  choice.  I 
will  speak  with  him,  and  I  may  prevail  to  save  thee.  Strange 
that  thou  shouldst  have  that  fear  of  death  which  we  thought 
was  only  the  instinct  of  the  inferior  creatures,  to  whom  the  con- 
viction of  another  life  has  not  been  vouchsafed.  With  us,  not 
an  infant  knows  such  a  fear.  Tell  me,  my  dear  Tish,"  he  con- 
tinued after  a  little  pause,  "would  it  reconcile  thee  more  to 
departure  from  this  form  of  life  to  that  form  which  lies  on  the 
other  side  of  the  moment  called  'death,'  did  I  share  thy  jour- 
ney? If  so,  I  will  ask  my  father  whether  it  be  allowable  for 
me  to  go  with  thee.  I  am  one  of  our  generation  destined  to 
emigrate  when  of  age  for  it,  to  some  regions  unknown  within 
this  world.  I  would  just  as  soon  emigrate  now  to  regions  un- 
known in  another  world.  The  All-Good  is  no  less  there  than 
here.     Where  is  He  not?" 

"Child,"  said  I,  seeing  by  Tae's  countenance  that  he  spoke 
in  serious  earnest,  "it  is  crime  in  thee  to  slay  me ;  it  were  a 
crime  not  less  in  me  to  say  'Slay  thyself.'  The  All-Good 
chooses  His  own  time  to  give  us  life,   and  His  own  time  to 


lao  THE     COMING     RACE. 

take  it  away.  Let  us  go  back.  If,  on  speaking  with  thy  father, 
he  decides  on  my  death,  give  me  the  longest  warning  in  thy 
power,  so  that  I  may  pass  the  interval  in  self-preparation." 

We  walked  back  to  the  city,  conversing  but  by  fits  and  starts. 
We  could  not  understand  each  other's  reasonings,  and  I  felt 
for  the  fair  child,  with  his  soft  voice  and  beautiful  face,  much 
as  a  convict  feels  for  the  executioner  who  walks  beside  hira  to 
the  place  of  doom. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

In  the  midst  of  those  hours  set  apart  for  sleep  and  constitut- 
ing the  night  of  the  Vril-ya,  I  was  awakened  from  the  disturbed 
slumber  into  which  I  had  not  long  fallen,  by  a  hand  on  my 
shoulder.     I  started,  and  beheld  Zee  standing  beside  me. 

"Hush,"  she  said  in  a  whisper;  "let  no  one  hear  us.  Dost 
thou  think  that  I  have  ceased  to  watch  over  thy  safety  because 
I  could  not  win  thy  love?  I  have  seen  Tae.  He  has  not  pre- 
vailed with  his  father,  who  had  meanwhile  conferred  with  the 
three  sages  whom,  in  doubtful  matters,  he  takes  into  council, 
and  by  their  advice  he  has  ordained  thee  to  perish  when  the 
world  reawakens  to  life.     I  will  save  thee.     Rise  and  dress." 

Zee  pointed  to  a  table  by  the  couch  on  which  I  saw  the 
clothes  I  had  worn  on  quitting  the  upper  world,  and  which  I 
had  exchanged  subsequently  for  the  more  picturesque  garments 
of  the  Vril-ya.  The  young  Gy  then  moved  towards  the  case- 
ment and  stepped  into  the  balcony,  while  hastily  and  wonder- 
ingly  I  donned  my  own  habiliments.  When  I  joined  her  on 
the  balcony  her  face  was  pale  and  rigid.  Taking  me  by  the 
hand,  she  said  softly:  "See  how  brightly  the  art  of  the  Vril- 
ya  has  lighted  up  the  world  in  which  they  dwell.  To-morrow 
that  world  will  be  dark  tome."  She  drew  me  back  into  the 
room  without  waiting  for  my  answer,  thence  into  the  corridor, 
from  which  we  descended  into  the  hall.  We  passed  into  the 
deserted  streets  and  along  the  broad  upward  road  which  wound 
beneath  the  rocks.  Here,  where  there  is  neither  day  nor  night, 
the  Silent  Hours  are  unutterably  solemn — the  vast  space  il- 
lumined by  mortal  skill  is  so  wholly  without  the  sight  and  stir 
of  mortal  life.  Soft  as  were  our  footsteps,  their  sounds  vexed 
the  ear,  as  out  of  harmony  with  the  universal  repose.  I  was 
aware  in  my  own  mind,  though  Zee  said  it  not,  that  she  had 
decided  to  assist  my  return  to  the  upper  world,  and  that  we 
were  bound  towards  the  place  from  which  I  had  descended. 
Her  silence  infected  me,  and  commanded  mine.     And  now  wc 


THE    COMING     RACE.  12J 

approached  the  chasm.  It  had  been  reopened ;  not  presenting 
indeed,  the  same  aspect  as  when  I  had  emerged  from  it,  but 
through  that  closed  wall  of  rock  before  which  I  had  last  stood 
with  Tae,  a  new  cleft  had  been  riven,  and  along  its  blackened 
sides  still  glimmered  sparks  and  smouldered  embers.  My  up- 
ward gaze  could  not,  however,  penetrate  more  than  a  few  feet 
into  the  darkness  of  the  hollow  void,  and  I  stood  dismayed, 
and  wondering  how  that  grim  ascent  was  to  be  made. 

Zee  divined  my  doubt.  "Fear  not,"  said  she,  with  a  faint 
smile;  "your  return  is  assured.  I  began  this  work  when  the 
Silent  Hours  commenced,  and  all  else  were  asleep :  believe  that 
I  did  not  pause  till  the  path  back  into  thy  world  was  clear.  I 
shall  be  with  thee  a  little  while  yet.  We  do  not  part  until  thou 
sayest:   'Go,  for  I  need  thee  no  more.'  " 

My  heart  smote  me  with  remorse  at  these  words.  "Ah!" 
I  exclaimed,  "would  that  thou  wert  of  my  race  or  I  of  thine, 
then  I  should  never  say,  'I  need  thee  no  more.'  " 

"I  bless  thee  for  those  words,  and  I  shall  remember  them 
when  thou  art  gone,"  answered  the  Gy  tenderly.  ^ 

During  this  brief  interchange  of  words,  Zee  had  turned  away 
from  me,  her  form  bent  and  her  head  bowed  over  her  breast. 
Now,  she  rose  to  the  full  height  of  her  grand  stature,  and  stood 
fronting  me.  While  she  had  been  thus  averted  from  my  gaze, 
she  had  lighted  up  the  circlet  that  she  wore  round  her  brow, 
so  that  it  blazed  as  if  it  were  a  cro\yn  of  stars.  Not  only  her 
face  and  her  form,  but  the  atmosphere  around,  were  illumined 
by  the  effulgence  of  the  diadem. 

"Now,"  said  she,  "put  thine  arms  around  me  for  the  first 
and  last  time.     Nay,  thus;  courage,  and  cling  firm." 

As  she  spoke  her  form  dilated,  the  vast  wings  expanded. 
Clinging  to  her,  I  was  borne  aloft  through  the  terrible  chasm. 
The  starry  light  from  her  forehead  shot  around  and  before  us 
through  the  darkness.  Brightly,  and  steadfastly,  and  swiftly 
as  an  angel  may  soar  heavenward  with  the  soul  it  rescues  from 
the  grave,  went  the  flight  of  the  Gy,  till  I  heard  in  the  distance 
the  hum  of  human  voices,  the  sounds  of  human  toil.  We 
halted  on  the  flooring  of  one  of  the  galleries  of  the  mine,  and 
beyond,  in  the  vista,  burned  the  dim,  rare,  feeble  lamps  of  the 
miners.  Then  I  released  my  hold.  The  Gy  kissed  me  on  my 
forehead  passionately,  but  as  with  a  mother's  passion,  and  said, 
as  the  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes:  "Farewell  forever.  Thou 
wilt  not  let  me  go  into  thy  world — thou  canst  never  return  to 
mine.  Ere  our  household  shake  off  slumber,  the  rocks  will 
have  again  closed  over  the  chasm,  not  to  be  reopened  by  me 


122  THE    COMING     RACE. 

nor  perhaps  by  others,  for  ages  yet  unguessed.  Think  of  me 
sometimes,  and  with  kindness.  When  I  reach  the  life  that  lies 
beyond  this  speck  in  time,  I  shall  look  around  for  thee.  Even 
there,  the  world  consigned  to  thy  self  and  thy  people  may  have 
rocks  and  gulfs  which  divide  it  from  that  in  which  I  rejoin  those 
of  my  race  that  have  gone  before,  and  I  may  be  powerless  to 
cleave  way  to  regain  thee  as  I  have  cloven  way  to  lose." 

Her  voice  ceased.  I  heard  the  swan-like  sough  of  her  wings, 
and  saw  the  rays  of  her  starry  diadem  receding  far  and  farther 
through  the  gloom, 

I  sate  myself  down  for  some  time,  musing  sorrowfully ;  then 
I  rose  and  took  my  way  with  slow  footsteps  towards  the  place 
in  which  I  heard  the  sounds  of  men.  The  miners  I  encountered 
were  strange  to  me,  of  another  nation  than  my  own.  They 
turned  to  look  at  me  with  some  surprise,  but  finding  that  I 
could  not  answer  their  brief  questions  in  their  own  language, 
they  returned  to  their  work  and  suffered  me  to  pass  on  un- 
molested. In  fine,  I  regained  the  mouth  of  the  mine,  little 
troubled  by  other  interrogatories — save  those  of  a  friendly 
official  to  whom  I  was  known,  and  luckily  he  was  too  busy  to 
talk  much  with  me.  I  took  care  not  to  return  to  my  former 
lodging,  but  hastened  that  very  day  to  quit  a  neighborhood 
where  I  could  not  long  have  escaped  inquiries  to  which  I  could 
have  given  no  satisfactory  answers.  I  regained  in  safety  my 
own  country,  in  which  I  have  been  long  peacefully  settled,  and 
engaged  in  practical  business,  till  I  retired,  on  a  competent 
fortune,  three  years  ago.  I  have  been  little  invited  and  little 
tempted  to  talk  of  the  rovings  and  adventures  of  my  youth. 
Somewhat  disappointed,  as  most  men  are,  in  matters  connected 
with  household  love  and  domestic  life,  I  often  think  of  the 
young  Gy  as  I  sit  alone  at  night,  and  wonder  how  I  could  have 
rejected  such  a  love,  no  matter  what  dangers  attended  it,  or  by 
what  conditions  it  was  restricted.  Only,  the  more  I  think  of  a 
people  calmly  developing,  in  regions  excluded  from  our  sight 
and  deemed  uninhabitable  by  our  sages,  powers  surpassing  our 
most  disciplined  modes  of  force,  and  virtues  to  which  our  life, 
social  and  political,  becomes  antagonistic  in  proportion  as  our 
civilization  advances,  the  more  devoutly  I  pray  that  ages  may 
yet  elapse  before  there  emerge  into  sunlight  our  inevitable  de- 
stroyers. Being,  however,  frankly  told  by  my  physician  that  I 
am  afflicted  by  a  complaint  which,  though  it  gives  little  pain 
and  no  perceptible  notice  of  its  encroachments,  may  at  any 
moment  be  fatal,  I  have  thought  it  my  duty  to  my  fellow-men 
to  place  on  record  these  forewarnings  of  The  Coming  Race. 


™BSi»."."«,„ 


A    0010024""! 


